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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28673268">Ghost of You</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/gogolucky13/pseuds/gogolucky13'>gogolucky13</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Ghost of You [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Bucky Barnes - Fandom, Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, bucky barnes x reader - Fandom</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Fluff, Panic Attacks, Slow Burn, Smut, Swearing</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 06:29:30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>9</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>20,452</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28673268</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/gogolucky13/pseuds/gogolucky13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Bucky has worked hard to come to terms with his past and enjoy the new life he’s been given. But his mind is still plagued by nightmares of what he’s done and by the face of an unknown woman. What happens when the team is tasked with recovering another Winter Solider, causing Bucky’s past and present to collide in the form of the woman from his dreams?</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>James "Bucky" Barnes &amp; Reader, James "Bucky" Barnes/Reader, Steve Rogers/Reader</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Ghost of You [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2101479</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>74</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Introduction</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>The room was dark. Always dark. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>And cold. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>It was as if nothing light or warm could ever exist in such a place. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Except for her.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>She was his light and warmth. His everything.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>A connection forged between two broken souls that passed like silent ships in the night. Identities gone, stripped and torn from bodies and minds until nothing remained. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>They were weapons designed to hurt, kill, and destroy against their will. Forced to be devoid of individual thoughts and desires. Ordered to cause pain and suffering, their worlds full of violence.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Yet amongst the bloodshed and carnage, a longing for one another was conceived. An unspoken yearning when they were programmed to feel nothing, they felt each other. Promising glances and hopeful touches, reaching for what was and what could be.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>When memories failed, the thought of her never did. Her eyes. Her lips. Always the first when awoken and the last before darkness descended.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Two ships that were once lost found their harbor. Anchoring together as one. Broken souls became restored and the want, need, for more fractured through their desolate minds. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>The room was always dark and cold. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>But within her light and warmth, a seed was planted and began to grow. It blossomed into a new and strange idea for the two mended souls.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Love.</em>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Grey clouds begin to form in the mid-morning sky, threatening a promising downpour the parched greenery outside would be grateful for. Bucky shifts his gaze to the cup in front of him. The clouds forming outside match the ones in his coffee, but are no competition to the incessant storm clouds that swirl through his mind.</p><p>Clouds of uncertainty, unease, curiosity.</p><p>If someone asked him, Bucky would compare his demeanor to a walking storm. Ready to crack a line of thunder and lightening at anyone or anything he felt threatened by. But he was getting better.</p><p>His therapist would say that and his friends would agree. Bucky wasn’t so convinced himself, but he guessed it was a good sign he no longer woke from nightmares every night. And the constant need to be in fight or flight response was dissipating.</p><p>Gripping the handle of the plain white coffee cup, Bucky swirls the hot liquid around a few times before raising the porcelain to his lips. A large gulp and he feels the warmth of the coffee travel down his insides. He places the cup back onto the kitchen table in front of him. The sky finally opens up and the fresh rainfall grabs his attention.  </p><p>The longer he thought about it, Bucky supposed he had improved a good deal since arriving at the Compound. The walls he had knowingly and unknowingly built had been deconstructed for the most part. He reconnected with his childhood friend, and formed bonds with team members he now worked and fought alongside. He was allowing himself to develop connections with other people again.</p><p>The nightmares haven’t stopped, and probably never would, something his therapist would delicately explain. His past was traumatic to say the least, and despite the work and effort one puts into clearing their conscious mind, there is often little control over the subconscious. It would heal and forget on its own terms, and that was a fact Bucky sometimes still had a hard time accepting.</p><p>However, as he spent more time at the Compound and reintegrated himself into everyday life of the 21st century, the nightmares started to dwindle, now occurring maybe two or three times a month. And, when compared to what he experienced before starting the process of easing his tempestuous mind, Bucky could easily tolerate the handful of nights of restless sleep.</p><p>Bucky’s eyes follow a few droplets of rain as they journey down the glass window of the kitchen. A simple activity that helped to ease his mind of wondering thoughts. It was a dangerous game when his mind started to wonder. Often times a dark and endless cycle of cynicism and guilt. So much guilt. The cycle didn’t seem to stop until a panic attack consumed him.</p><p>The heavy baggage of his past had been sorted through, and peeled back in tedious, fragile layers during countless therapy sessions. Specialized breathing and sensory methods were designed for him to harness and ease his anxieties. A way to give him back some sort of control over one of many things he previously had no control over.</p><p>The soft pitter patter of the rain hitting the glass fills Bucky’s ears, and he slowly closes his eyes, his hand gently squeezing the coffee cup he still holds. Trying to fill his senses with the current surroundings, trying to push out the thoughts he felt creeping back into his mind.</p><p>Maybe closing his eyes was a bad idea, because when he does, he sees <em>her</em> face again. </p><p>The face of a woman he didn’t necessarily recognize, but knows she holds an importance to him. He knows this much because when he has a nightmare, they now start and end with her. A gentle beginning to a wretched, frightening middle fading into a calm, dare he say loving, conclusion. </p><p>All because of her.</p><p>Glass shattering breaks Bucky out of the silent trance, and he glances down to see the metal of his left hand covered in the black liquid of his coffee. He quietly curses to himself before reaching for a napkin from the center of the table.</p><p>After wiping up the mess and tossing the porcelain pieces into the trash, Bucky stands over the sink, eyes scrunched and hands gripping the edges of the counter, willing himself to take deep breaths. </p><p>
  <em>In through the nose, out through the mouth.</em>
</p><p>Anxiety is bubbling up inside him, curdling in the pit of his stomach as he continues with his breathing techniques. Bucky couldn’t quite explain why this woman’s face evokes such  strong feelings inside him. Contradicting emotions of his mind telling him he doesn’t know her, but his heart screaming at him that he does. He knows her so well that he could believe he loves this nameless woman.</p><p>Because of this lingering uncertainty, Bucky keeps that fragment of his past to himself. A part from the occasional vague comment or question he exchanges with his therapist, the subject of <em>her</em> was never discussed. </p><p>Bucky wouldn’t even know what to say if he did want to talk about it with someone.</p><p>As the tenth exhale passes through his lips, he slowly opens his eyes. Blinking a few times he gently releases the counter and takes in his surroundings. The rain still hitting against the glass window, the residual scent of coffee on his hands.</p><p>Bucky reaches into the fridge for a bottle of water before he heads down to the gym for a training session.</p><p>__________</p><p>Steve and Natasha, along with a few new recruits, are already in the gym when Bucky arrives. He chances a few shy glances at the rookie agents as he walks pass them. Knowing his reputation always precedes him, he offers his best attempt at a friendly smile when he isn’t met with malicious glares.</p><p>As Bucky approaches his two friends, a sly smirk spreads across Natasha’s full lips after she looks from the recruits back to Bucky. </p><p>“Y’know Barnes, it wouldn’t hurt to show off some of that ‘Winter Soldier’ intimidation every once in a while around the new recruits. God knows some of them need their egos brought down a bit.”</p><p>Bucky playfully rolls his eyes at her, the corners of his lips curling slightly upwards. “Good morning to you, too, Natalia.”</p><p>“Don’t listen to her, Buck,” Steve chimes in. “Well, I mean, some of those new guys could afford to be put in their place.” He briefly glances over Bucky’s shoulder. “But we know you’re not the Winter Soldier anymore, or,” he pauses looking to the ceiling with furrowed brows, “The Winter Solider isn’t you?”</p><p>A roll of his eyes again, and Bucky is already over the conversation. “I came here to train, not listen to you two yap about bullshit.” Chuckling, Bucky skirts by them and heads towards the punching bags.</p><p>The sticky side of the tape grips the flesh of Bucky’s right hand as he wraps his knuckles. Testing the strength and releasing some of the stiffness of the white binding, Bucky flexes his hand a few times before squaring up to the black bag in front of him. Music pulsates his eardrums as a classic rock song blasts through his headphones, punches almost in time with the beat of the drums. </p><p>Although he was initially reluctant to embrace so many new changes in his everyday life, including cell phones, Netflix, and fast food, Bucky was grateful for some of the things the 21st century had to offer. Natasha and Sam were kind enough to gradually introduce him to things they thought he would enjoy. The bluetooth headphones and the music playlists Sam gave him were a few of the things he welcomed.</p><p>Sweat begins to trickle down Bucky’s temples, and the little hairs are sticking to the base of his neck. His punches become unforgiving. The lingering anxiety from earlier leaving his body, traveling down his arms into his hands, the punching bag absorbing it all. It swings back and forth before him as he lands blow after blow to the tattered black leather.</p><p>A presence makes itself known from behind, and Bucky throws a <em>one, two</em> punch to the bag before he swings around, pulling the third punch just in time to stop an inch from Sam’s beaming face.</p><p>Bucky quickly drops his left arm, yanking the headphones off as he gives Sam a disgruntled look. </p><p>“What the hell is wrong with you? You know not to do that when I’m on the bags.”</p><p>The grin on Sam’s face remains, tongue slightly poking out of the gap in his teeth, clearly amused by Bucky’s reaction. He stands tall before Bucky, not at all unsettled by the irritation radiating off the former deadly assassin. </p><p>“How was the date?” Sam asks with a hint of jest, arms crossed over his broad figure.</p><p>The furrow of Bucky’s brow deepens as he processes the question, rolling his eyes and moving around Sam to begin unraveling the tape from his right hand.</p><p>“It wasn’t a date,” Bucky retorts, biting back his annoyance and walking to the corner of the gym where his bag and water sit.</p><p>Sam follows behind, arms still intertwined. </p><p>“Sure it was. You took her out to dinner, didn’t you? You brought her back here, didn’t you? You fu-“</p><p>“Enough!” </p><p>Bucky swiftly turns around, his voice louder than he intended. His stare shifts from Sam’s still amused face to the few people that stand nearby. His features quickly soften as he offers an apologetic smile before looking back to Sam, face hardening again. </p><p>“Listen, man,” Sam starts, releasing his arms and placing a compassionate hand to Bucky’s right shoulder, “I’m glad you put yourself out there. It’s good for you, y’know, to be dating.”</p><p>Bucky gently shrugs his shoulder from Sam’s touch and blows out an exasperated sigh through his nose. He knows Sam cares, despite their at times incessant bickering, Bucky knows he can count on Sam to be there for him. And he knows Sam is right. </p><p>Dating, or whatever it was he was doing, was good for him he supposed. His therapist had suggested he try to start seeing people, even if it was just a casual thing. Which it was most of the time. The emotional connections Bucky formed with his teammates was good enough for him, but his therapist, including Steve and Sam, even Nat had her opinions, told him he should try to start connecting with people physically again. </p><p>Another step in the process of moving from the darkness of his past into the light of his future. </p><p>But however many “dates” Bucky went on, the physical connections always seemed to leave him feeling hollow. It felt good in the moment, to be wanted, and the feeling of anticipation of what was to come. But afterwards, when Bucky found himself lying awake in his bed as the flavor of the week slept beside him, the realization of how lonely he truly was would creep in. </p><p>If Bucky really thought about it, he could reason that <em>she</em> began showing up in his dreams around the time he started dating.</p><p>“Yeah, I know,” Bucky mutters, removing the remainder of the tape from his hand and tossing it into the garbage bin.</p><p>“Anyways,” Sam begins, shooting his eyebrows up, “how was it? Are you gonna see her again?”</p><p>“You’re relentless.” </p><p>Bucky is grumbling as he gently shoulders pass a delighted Sam.</p><p>“C’mon!” Sam calls after him, his arms held out in defeat. He watches the super soldier’s tall, agitated figure retreat from the work out space. “Well, if you’re not gonna see her again — drinks this weekend?!” </p><p>The response he gets is that of the gym doors slamming.</p><p>__________</p><p>Bucky stands unmoving with his hands pressed against the white tiled wall of his shower, head down. Water flows over his body, droplets dancing down the smooth skin of his back. The warmth of the shower did wonders to ease the aches of his muscles, but nothing to ease the aches of his mind. </p><p>Steam fills the bathroom as he steps out of the shower, wrapping a fluffy white towel low around his waist. Water continues to drip from his body and hair while he makes his way into his bedroom to change. He still has half a day ahead of him so he settles on some loungewear, knowing he won’t be leaving the Compound.</p><p>The notable Irish accent of the AI system wired throughout the building speaks out just as Bucky pulls a black t-shirt over his head.</p><p>“Sergeant Barnes, Captain Rogers has called a team meeting. All members are meant to report to the briefing room at 1500 hours.”</p><p>Bucky glimpses to the clock on his bedside table. The meeting is in five minutes, and the fact there is a lack of warning before the meeting is not lost on him.</p><p>
  <em>Punk.</em>
</p><p>Tossing the damp towel into a laundry basket, Bucky slips on a pair of running shoes and leaves his room. As he makes his way down to the briefing room, Bucky’s thoughts swirl with ideas of what could be so urgent that Steve would need to call everyone to a meeting on such short notice.</p><p>The briefing room reflects how conference rooms appear in movies and tv shows. A long oak table fills the center of the space with black rolling chairs surrounding it. A wall of windows consisting of retractable blinds cover the far side of the room. The blinds are currently closed, making the room darker and giving off the impressions it’s much later in the day than it really is. At the front of the room are a series of advanced computer screens that essentially suspend in midair. </p><p>Bucky takes his unassigned seat towards the back of the table, Sam across from him. They briefly share an inquisitive look before turning their attention to Steve. The Captain stands upright in front of the screens, hands clasped behind his back and a stern look on his face.</p><p>A quick glance to Steve’s still figure and Bucky deduces he’s come straight from the training sessions with the new recruits. Another detail that has Bucky wondering what the urgency of this briefing is.</p><p>Natasha takes her place beside Sam, a seat closer to the front, while Wanda sits across from her and next to Bucky. Vision settles in, sitting in the seat closest to the front, and Clint takes the empty chair on the other side of Sam. Finally, Tony walks in, followed closely behind by Nick Fury.</p><p>An odd, unsettling feeling comes over Bucky. Seeing a lot of the big players have been called in for this briefing suggests they are about to be sent on a serious assignment. Extracting crucial intel, rescuing high-ranking hostages, or, Bucky’s most hated missions, tracking down and fighting against the literal demons of his past — Hydra. </p><p>And just as Bucky takes a large gulp from the glass of water that sits in front of him, the distinctive symbol of the unforgiving organization that stole his past appears on the screen. The skull and tentacles taunting him as if to say <em>“we’re still here and we’re coming for you.”</em></p><p>He places the glass of water back on the table, his hand beginning to shake. Then, when he looks back up to the screen, another picture appears beside the antagonistic logo. </p><p>If the first photo had Bucky’s blood running cold, this one has it turning to ice. A breath catches in his throat and pulse quickening, his mind going haywire as it tries to process what his eyes are seeing on the screen before him. </p><p>A photo of a woman, with a sad, vacant look on her face that he knows all too well.</p><p>
  <em>Her.</em>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Bucky’s ears are ringing. The palm of his flesh hand and the back of his neck are coated in hot sweat, his heart pounding erratically in his chest.</p>
<p>“…so I do apologize, but we think we need everyone on this one.” Steve is focusing on Bucky, whose stare is unmoving from the picture on the screen. “Buck?”</p>
<p>“Hm?” Bucky clears his throat, finally tearing his eyes from the woman he sees in his dreams. “Sorry, what?”</p>
<p>Steve’s brow slightly furrows, a mixture of concern and impatience coloring his features. “I was just saying, I’m sorry we’re asking you to take part in this mission, but we’ll need everyone.”</p>
<p>“Oh.” Bucky’s voice is small as he attempts to hide the inner swell of turmoil building up inside. “Yeah, s’fine.”</p>
<p>“Are you alright?” Steve’s eyes are unwavering.</p>
<p>The muscles of Bucky’s jaw twitch under his skin as he clenches his back teeth. Swallowing hard, he nods his head timidly before pulling himself together and giving Steve a confident “yes.”</p>
<p>He goes to reach for his water again, but stops when he sees his hand is visibly shaking. Instead, he places them in his lap, wringing his fingers together to bring back some sort of controlled sensation to his body. After a few silent deep breathes, Bucky is able to focus on the rest of the briefing.</p>
<p>“So this pretty face you see is Y/F/N Y/L/N,” Nick Fury explains, enlarging the picture of the woman and gesturing with his hands. “And just like our friend Barnes here,” he offers a hand in Bucky’s direction, “she’s another Winter Solider.”</p>
<p>The room is already quiet as Fury speaks, but after those words, it seems every white noise is silenced. The air is still, as if everyone is holding their breath in anticipation for what Fury says next. He pauses before continuing, looking around the room to register everyone’s reactions, and ensuring his team members are hearing him clearly.</p>
<p>“Now, we don’t know much about her except that she was kept in the same facilities as you, Barnes.” He’s looking at Bucky again, a quick nod of his head. “And it looks like Hydra isn’t quite done with her yet, but we were finally able to get intel on her current location.”</p>
<p>The screen behind Fury changes, a broad map of Belarus appearing before it magnifies and highlights what looks to be a small village close to the border of Russia.</p>
<p><em>Original</em>.</p>
<p>“Our mission is to extract Y/L/N from the Hydra base she is currently being kept at and bring her back here. We want her alive and in one piece if possible.” Fury shifts his gaze around the room.</p>
<p>“Sorry,” Natasha begins, raising a hand, “but if she’s another Winter Soldier, shouldn’t we take her to a place that’s a bit more secure? Like Raft? I mean, we don’t know how dangerous she is.”</p>
<p>Bucky is staring at her, a trace of anger starting to rise up inside him. The whirring of his left hand is muffled from under the table as he clenches it into a fist in an attempt to get his emotions in check.</p>
<p><em>You don’t know her</em>.</p>
<p>He knows Natasha is right. If this woman is a Winter Soldier like him, they don’t know what she’s capable of, but there’s a nagging feeling inside Bucky’s chest that he needs to protect her.</p>
<p>“You’re right,” Fury answers, “we don’t know how dangerous she is, but our plan is to bring her back here so we can closely monitor her and hopefully extract some useful Hydra information out of her.”</p>
<p>Natasha nods her head in acknowledgment, writing a quick note on the paper in front of her.</p>
<p>“Yeah, and just to piggy back off of that,” Tony states, “I’ve had some remodeling done downstairs. She’ll be kept in a solitary room with reinforced steel walls; one way in, one way out type deal. The door can only be opened with pre-approved fingerprints, and she’ll be under 24 hour surveillance.”</p>
<p>A blister of irritation forms in Bucky’s chest as everyone talks about her as if she is some <em>thing</em> and not a person. But as much as he hates the thought of her being kept in what is essentially a prison cell, he unfortunately understands. The risk is too high to not take every precaution necessary, because one mistake could result in disastrous consequences; something he knows all too well.</p>
<p>The briefing concludes, and the team is informed they will be leaving in two days for Belarus.</p>
<p>Bucky has two days to get himself together and sort through the new storm of complex emotions surging inside him. A tornado of confusion, anger, and despair. But at the eye of the storm is the most complex emotion of all: love.</p>
<p>A gentle hand grasps Bucky’s shoulder as he exits the briefing room, pulling him to a stop and he turns to face Steve.</p>
<p>“Hey,” Steve begins, “are you sure you’re alright? You can do this mission?”</p>
<p>Bucky pauses, looking at his friend’s face and seeing genuine concern in his eyes. “Course, Stevie. Don’t worry about me, punk.” A forced smile is on Bucky’s face as he pats Steve’s back.</p>
<p>Steve releases Bucky’s shoulder and watches as he enters the elevator.</p>
<p>The moment Bucky is back in his room, he rushes to the bathroom. The swelling storm inside him is unmerciful as he feels the rise of bile burn the back of his throat. He retches into the toilet, eyes watering and body heaving forwards.</p>
<p>After a short while, Bucky is wiping his mouth with a towel from the floor. He leans against the cool tile wall, knees up and elbows resting on top. Eyes closed as his head remains still, his breathing returning to a normal rhythm.</p>
<p>
  <em>Fuck.</em>
</p>
<p>Eventually, Bucky finds the energy to brush his teeth and climb into bed. Steve had rang him for dinner, but Bucky wasn’t hungry. He doesn’t think he could eat anything even if he was.</p>
<p>The team issued tablet is clutched in Bucky’s grasp while he lays in his dimly lit room. He’s been staring at the woman’s picture for God knows how long. It’s one thing to see her in his subconscious mind, the unknown but familiar force that soothed his tempestuous nightmares, but to see her now, when he’s awake and conscious, is entirely different.It was like an out of body experience.</p>
<p>The battle between his heart and mind is slowly coming to a resolution, with his mind surrendering to the fact that he does know this woman. She stares back at Bucky, features glum with a sadness in her eyes he’s certain once had a look of love.</p>
<p>A love for him.</p>
<p>Beside the woman’s face is a name. <em>Her</em> name. And Bucky instantly committed it to memory. He had said it to himself probably a thousand times since he heard it for the first time a few hours prior. After seeing this woman countless times in his dreams, she finally has a name.</p>
<p><em>Y/N</em>.</p>
<p>__________</p>
<p>Two days fly by in an instant. Bucky tries his best to compose himself before the mission, sort out his emotions and separate work from personal issues. Two days wasn’t nearly enough time, but he was confident there would never be enough time.</p>
<p>He sits in the back of the Quinjet, squeezing his hands and twisting his fingers. Incessantly bouncing his right leg as he takes quiet deep breaths, eyes closed.</p>
<p>“Are you okay?” Wanda’s kind voice breaks through Bucky’s spiraling mind, his eyes darting open to look up at her as she stands before him. Her brow is furrowed, a tender look on her face.</p>
<p>Bucky clears his throat, running his sweaty palms over the tops of his thighs and nodding his head. “Yeah, yeah, I’m alright. Just, y’know, these missions get to me sometimes.” He tries to force a genuine smile to sell his answer, a slight shrug of his shoulders.</p>
<p>Wanda bows her head, contemplating his response.</p>
<p>Bucky knows she’s able to sense others’ energies, maybe even read minds. After a moment, she seems to accept his response.</p>
<p>“Okay, if you say so.” She pauses for a moment, looking Bucky directly in the eye and he wills them to not give him away. “If you ever need to talk, Bucky, I’m here. Please remember that.” She reaches forward and gently squeezes his right shoulder. “I may be young, but I have seen a lot.”</p>
<p>A hushed sigh of relief escapes Bucky as he reaches to grasp Wanda’s hand on his shoulder. “Thanks, Wanda.” His voice is soft and he returns her smile with a sincere one of his own.</p>
<p>One final look between them and Wanda is moving to take her seat towards the front of the Quinjet.</p>
<p>“Okay, ladies and gentlemen,” Sam’s voice comes from the pilot’s seat, his arms moving around as he presses buttons and flips switches, “please keep arms and legs inside the ride at all times. Trust me.” He’s peering around his seat, an impish smirk on his face.</p>
<p>Bucky rolls his eyes and shakes his head.</p>
<p>When the Quinjet finally takes off, anxiety quickly festers his insides again. The mantra that plays like a broken record chants in his mind.</p>
<p>
  <em>You can do this, you can do this.</em>
</p>
<p>The journey to Belarus is a handful of hours. Even with jet engines and high-speed velocity, their destination won’t come fast enough for Bucky. He concentrates on the changing views outside, Sam’s annoying voice as he tells lame jokes, the bothersome fabric of his tactical pants that digs into his waist.</p>
<p><em>Anything</em> besides what is waiting for them, <em>him</em>, on the other side.</p>
<p>But the uncertainty of what could happen continuously pushes itself to the forefront of his mind. Not knowing what type of state she will be in, both mentally and physically, is a concerning thought that’s making his head hurt. And on top of that, not knowing what his own reaction will be to seeing her is the throbbing ache behind his eyes.</p>
<p>He knows he probably shouldn’t be on this mission. If the cognitive daze he had been in the past few days was any indication to how this mission was going to go, then he sure as hell knows he <em>definitely</em> shouldn’t be on this mission. But the prospect of there being someone from his past, someone who he held a connection with deeper than anyone in his life, past and present, then he had to see it for himself. To know it was and is real.</p>
<p>That she is real.</p>
<p>Not soon enough, but at the same time, all too quickly, Sam is landing the Quinjet in a small open field a few miles out from the Hydra base. The team begins adjusting and inspecting their tactical gear, and arming themselves with the necessary weapons. Bucky watches in a trance for a moment, not fully accepting his current reality.</p>
<p>When he catches a glimpse of Wanda looking at him with a subtle hint of curiosity, he pushes himself to stand. He retrieves his gun from its holding place above his seat, checking it with shaking hands.</p>
<p>
  <em>You can do this.</em>
</p>
<p>“Okay, listen up everyone, here’s the plan,” Tony speaks, holding out his palm where a computerized blueprint of the Hydra base appears. “Sam and I will be air support, we’ll fly ahead and scan for threats first. Cap and Romanoff,” he points to them with his other hand, “you’ll take the south side. Barnes and Maximoff,” he turns to look at them, “you’ll enter from the north side.”</p>
<p>Waving the opposite hand, he moves the CGI building around, focusing in on a specific area before he continues.</p>
<p>“This base has three levels. Clint and Vision,” he glances to them, “you’ll cover the top floors while the rest of the team enters. Our intel tells us Y/L/N is probably being held somewhere in the sub-level, so that’s where we’ll start.”</p>
<p>The virtual blueprint disappears and Tony drops his hand, looking to Steve and giving him a nod, signaling that he’s finished. Steve returns the gesture before turning to address the team.</p>
<p>“Alright everyone,” Steve starts, standing tall by the ramp with his thumbs hooked into the belt of his suit, “the mission is to get in and get out as quickly as possible, only engage if you have to.”</p>
<p>A pause before he says his next words, scanning everyone’s faces as he continues. “Hydra isn’t expecting us here today, so their defenses should be low and their offenses weak, but we can’t take any risks. We need to be prepared for anything.” His concerning gaze lands on Bucky. “Know your job. Stay alert. Stay focused.”</p>
<p>Bucky swallows thickly, reading between the lines of Steve’s words. He adjusts the grip on his gun as the ramp begins to lower. The team files out, Tony and Sam taking to the skies while Clint and Vision move ahead into the tree line.</p>
<p>Bucky remains still at the top of the ramp, gripping and re-gripping his gun. Steve walks up beside him, shield in hand.</p>
<p>“Okay?”</p>
<p>A slight glance in Steve’s direction and Bucky nods his head. “Yeah, punk. Let’s just get this done and over with so we can go home.”</p>
<p>Steve lets out a soft chuckle, patting Bucky on the shoulder. “You can do this.”</p>
<p>A shared look of assurance before Tony’s voice comes over the comms, alerting them it was clear to head into the base.</p>
<p>“Time to go.”</p>
<p>Steve gives Bucky’s shoulder one last pat before he tightens the buckle on his shield and heads down the ramp.</p>
<p>A deep breath as the mantra in Bucky’s head continues to play on repeat.</p>
<p>
  <em>You can do this.</em>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The Hydra base comes into view as Bucky follows Steve and the rest of the team through the wooded area surrounding the building. To the average person the place would look abandoned, shattered windows and fractures in the concrete walls. The greenery has long overgrown, beginning to reclaim the structure as its own.</p><p>It’s silent as they approach; not even birds seem to want to build their nests near a place culpable of horrific crimes. A few stray bodies of Hydra agents litter the ground; the guards that Sam and Tony eliminated.</p><p>Steve signals to the team it’s time to split up, gesturing for Bucky and Wanda to proceed towards the north side and for Nat to follow him to the south. Bucky gives him a nod of acknowledgment before leading Wanda in their assigned direction. As he passes by the building, Bucky glances up to the roof where Sam sits watching from above. He gives Bucky a bow of his head before continuing his surveillance of the area.</p><p>The entrance on the north side is locked, not to Bucky’s surprise.</p><p>“Stand back,” he mutters to Wanda as he squares up to the door. The bottom of his boot connects with the handle, and a loud <em>thud </em>echoes before it slams open.</p><p>Bucky quickly draws his weapon, holding it high and tight, ready for anything. Two men dressed in all black tactical suits appear from around the corner at the end of the hallway, charging towards them with guns aimed. A quick <em>one, two </em>pull of his trigger and Bucky has the agents falling to the ground.</p><p>“We’re inside,” Steve states into the comms.</p><p>“Us too,” Bucky replies, eyes continuing to scan the hallways as he and Wanda move further into the building.</p><p>“Start moving down to the sub-level,” Steve instructs, “and keep all eyes open.”</p><p>The doors to the stairwell creak as Bucky pushes them open with his back, the noise reverberating against the stony walls. First checking up, then down, with his gun still drawn and ready for action. Bucky signals for Wanda to follow as he descends the stairs. The sound of crunching cement fills the quiet stairwell, the walls inside looking no better than the deteriorating foundations outside.</p><p>“Contact on the south side.” Natasha’s voices comes through the comms.</p><p>The faint sound of gun shots can be heard from the other side of the building. Bucky and Wanda pause on the stairs, glancing in the direction of the commotion.</p><p>“C’mon,” Bucky prompts, motioning with a head tilt towards a set of steel double doors at the bottom of the stairs.</p><p>A handful of agents greet them on the other side and the area is quickly filled with bright white and red flashes. Gunfire rings through the hallway as Bucky aims and shoots while Wanda uses her powers like a shield to prevent any bullets from striking them.</p><p>“Contact on the north side in the sub-level,” Wanda informs over the comms. The adrenaline coursing through her system causes her Eastern European accent to sound more prominent.</p><p>After the last Hydra agent drops to the ground, Bucky and Wanda share a quick look to ensure the other is unscathed. Chests heaving from the action, Wanda gives Bucky a curt nod to continue with the mission.</p><p>“Threats eliminated,” Bucky states, “we’re moving further in.”</p><p>“Keep up the great work, kids. We should be able to make it back in time for a nice brunch tomorrow,” Tony’s voice comes through and Bucky is rolling his eyes.</p><p>Various rooms line the hallway of the sub-level; offices, workspaces, and some rooms where more sinister things occur. Bucky stops in one of the rooms that appears to serve as an office while Wanda continues down the hallway, peering in rooms as she passes.</p><p>“She’s not on the south side,” Steve says, his breathing slightly erratic. “Wanda, Buck, keep an eye out on the north side. Nat and I are making our way over to your location now.”</p><p>Random files and papers cover the desk inside the abandoned office, a filing cabinet in the corner looks as if it had been ransacked. The metal of Bucky’s left hand shuffles through the paperwork, checking for anything significant.</p><p>“Bucky,” Wanda’s voice carries from outside the room, low and with an edge of nervousness.</p><p>Walking back out into the hallway, Bucky sees Wanda frozen in place a few yards away. A look of distress shades her expression. He doesn’t have to see what she’s staring at, he already knows.</p><p>His body begins moving in autopilot towards her, hard swallows while his hands harshly grip the handle and barrel of his gun. Eyes trained on Wanda’s figure until he finally approaches the room she’s fixated on.</p><p>Bucky feels the air leave his lungs, the weight of his body holding him in place. Mouth agape, eyes wide and watering. His mind again struggling to comprehend the vision before him.</p><p>There, lying motionless on a gurney in the center of a medical room, <em>you</em>.</p><p>Your right wrist is strapped down in a leather buckle, the other lying limp beside you. A dirty, tattered looking hospital gown covers your body, giving view to the random cuts, bruises, and scars on your arms and legs. Hair, dirty and wild, looks wet from either water or grease, it was hard to tell.</p><p>“She’s here,” Wanda informs the rest of the team through the comms before slowly making her way into the room. She approaches the gurney, gently pushing a tray of medical supplies out of her way.</p><p>“She’s still breathing, barely though,” she comments after checking your vitals. “I guess you’ll have to carry her out.” Wanda finally looks to Bucky and notices the panic beginning to warp his features. “Are you alright?”</p><p>Bucky’s watery eyes snap from your still figure to Wanda, swallowing thickly before he responds.</p><p>“Y-yeah. Just brings back…” his voice trails when he looks back to you.</p><p>“I get it,” Wanda’s voice is calm and understanding, “but the sooner we get her out of here the sooner we can go home.” She smiles softly at him before she begins removing the restraints from your wrist.</p><p>Bucky only nods, finally taking a step into the room and laying his gun on a table by the door.</p><p>Just then, your chest jerks upwards as a loud, stifling scream fills the room, lungs striving for air. Wanda stumbles backwards a few feet and Bucky stops dead in his tracks, both looking on with stunned expressions.</p><p>A few coughs and gags then you are leaning over the edge of the gurney, continuing to fight for breaths. Your body stills when you sense the presence of others in the room, slowly sitting upright.</p><p>Nausea rushes through Bucky when he locks eyes with you. He eels his chest tighten, his lung capacity shortening. Sweaty and dirty, your eyes are wide from shock and fear, he’s sure.</p><p>Deep inhales and exhales as you attempt to control your breathing. And then your gaze shifts to Wanda.</p><p>In an instant, you reach for a scalpel from the medical cart and swiftly jump off the gurney. Before Bucky or Wanda can react, you grab for the Scarlet Witch, one arm across her chest while the other presses the scalpel mercilessly into her neck.</p><p>“<em>Kto ty</em>?!” <em>(Who are you?!)</em></p><p>At the sound of your voice, blood is rushing into Bucky’s ears. Another sign that you are genuinely real and no longer a figment of his subconscious.</p><p>“<em>Gde ya</em>?!” <em>(Where am I?!)</em></p><p>Panic and confusion is evident in each syllable you speak. Your voice raspy from lack of use and constant screaming.</p><p>Bucky swallows hard, slowly raising his hands to portray a friendly stance, his eyes still trained on your frightened and threatening figure.</p><p>“Bucky…” Wanda pleads in a strained tone. He could see small dots of red begin to appear on her neck from where you hold the scalpel to it.</p><p>Then, slowly, Bucky begins to step closer.</p><p>“<em>Stoy</em>!” <em>(Stop!) </em>you cry, removing the scalpel from Wanda’s neck and holding it in Bucky’s direction with a trembling hand. “<em>Kto ty</em>?!” <em>(Who are you?!) </em>You demand a second time, tears reflecting in your eyes.</p><p>Unsure of what to do, Bucky remains motionless, body and mind competing with each other for what to do next. Thoughts and scenarios run through his head but nothing was of use or made sense. He chances a glance at Wanda who peers back at him with pleading eyes.</p><p>“<em>Bucky</em>.”</p><p>Suddenly, a commotion from outside the room is heard, and just before Bucky turns to see what it is, he catches a quick glimpse of Wanda’s gleaming red hands and then everything goes black.</p><p>__________</p><p>Bright fluorescent lights sting Bucky’s eyes as he blinks them open. Glancing around he quickly recognizes his surroundings; an all white room with sleek medical equipment.</p><p>He’s back at the Compound.</p><p>Registering this information, Bucky quickly sits up, a soft groan escaping his lips as he does. His head and chest hurt, dried blood cakes the backs of his hands and parts of his face. Squeezing his eyes shut, he wills his mind to remember.</p><p>
  <em>You. Wanda’s blood. A loud bang. Red flashes. Blackness.</em>
</p><p>At the thought of you, adrenaline begins coursing through him. Bucky swiftly hops off the hospital bed and barges into the hallway. Looking left then right, he scans for the faces of his team members.</p><p>Sam and Clint stand at the end of the hallway, Clint leaning against the wall with Sam standing before him, arms crossed. Serious expressions on their faces as they talk to each other. Bucky shoulders passed a few doctors and scientists as he marches towards them.</p><p>“Hey-“ Sam starts, dropping his arms as Bucky approaches.</p><p>“Where is she?” Bucky feels his chest heaving from a combination of anxiety and anger. “Where is she?” He asks again with a hint of distress when he doesn’t get a response quick enough.</p><p>The two men share a stern, apprehensive glance before Clint gives Sam a curt nod.</p><p>“C’mon,” Sam utters softly, gesturing with his head towards the elevators.</p><p>Bucky follows him into the lift, Clint close behind. A button towards the bottom lefthand column lights up after Sam presses it, the shiny metal doors closing and giving Bucky a look at his reflection. Small cuts and scratches cover his face, the fabric of his tactical vest shredded.</p><p>Moments later, the elevator dings open, revealing an empty, stony hallway. Again, Bucky follows Sam as he exits the elevator and starts towards one of the entrances at the end of the hallway.</p><p>Two guards stand outside a set of double metal doors, one of them giving Sam a gesture of acknowledgement before he opens it. Inside, Tony, Steve, and Natasha stand before a window, which Bucky assumes is a one-way mirror on the other side. All had varying looks of concern, anxiousness, and uncertainty when they see him enter.</p><p>Walking further into the room, Bucky can feel his heart hammering in his chest, the fingernails of his right hand digging deep into his palm as he clenches it into a fist. Tony and Natasha move off to the side to give him room to stand in front of the window for a clear view of what is on the other side. Steve remains still beside him, arms crossed.</p><p>The space Bucky can see is mostly white; a bed, small table and a chair, the only pieces of furniture. A half wall in the back corner of the room provides some privacy from the toilet and showering space.</p><p>You lay motionless on top of the white covers, eyes closed and breathing even. You’ve been cleaned up and dressed in an all white cotton outfit. The clothing reminds Bucky of the scrubshe sees the doctors and nurses wearing in the medical ward.</p><p>“Bruce gave her a sedative,” Steve states, answering Bucky’s unspoken question. “She’ll be out for a few more hours.”</p><p>The room is silent as Bucky continues to gaze through the window at your resting figure. He can still see some cuts and bruises on your body, some appearing fresher as a result of theearlier mission. From his peripheral, Bucky sees Steve gesturing for the others to leave them.</p><p>After the door closes, Steve turns to face Bucky whose stare remains forward. “Wanda told me what happened,” he starts, a sigh falling from his lips. “Is everything alright?”</p><p>Bucky turns to Steve, eyes damp and chest fluttering with a medley of emotions. “Is she okay?”</p><p>“Who? Wanda?”</p><p>Bucky nods, his bottom lip held harshly between his teeth.</p><p>“Yeah, she’s got a little bit of a cut on her neck, but she’s fine.” Steve pauses. “I think she was more concerned about you.”</p><p>A deep breath from Bucky and he looks back through the window. “I don’t know what came over me. I-I saw her lying there…and, I-I don’t know. I just froze.” His voice is low with a slight tremble. “I guess I didn’t realize how much it would affect me…seeing her.”</p><p>Steve remains quiet, jaw twitching while he stares at Bucky’s profile, considering the explanation. He knows there’s probably more Bucky isn’t telling him, but seeing the distressed look on his friend’s face tells him he should save his questioning for another time.</p><p>Instead, he states, “Wanda is in her room; you should go see her.”</p><p>Glancing back to Steve again, Bucky pauses a moment before nodding his head in agreement.</p><p>Wanda sits reading on the grey chase lounge in the corner of her room when Bucky arrives. A thick white bandage covers part of her neck, a crinkling noise as she looks up to offer him a friendly smile.</p><p>“Hi,” she says softly, closing her book and placing it on the table beside her.</p><p>Bucky chews on his lower lip, shamefully glancing to Wanda then to the floor as he takes a seat on the edge of her bed.</p><p>It’s silent, Bucky unable to force the words from his mouth, so Wanda takes it upon herself to begin the conversation.</p><p>“I didn’t want to,” she starts, glancing down to where her fingers fiddle with the sleeves of her plum colored cardigan, “use my powers I mean, but when she had me, and you…you…” A sigh, “Anyways, I didn’t mean for it to affect you too, but I didn’t know what else to do. So, I’m sorry about that.”</p><p>“<em>No</em>,” Bucky urges. “I’m...I’m sorry. I’m sorry for what happened to you,” he finally meets her eyes, “because of me.”</p><p>Wanda places her feet on the floor, moving closer to Bucky. “It’s o-“</p><p>“It’s not okay,” Bucky states firmly, then a sigh as he peers back to the floor, running his hands through his hair. “It’s not okay. I didn’t do anything when I should have. I-I froze up and I don’t know why.”</p><p>It’s a lie, he knows it and he was sure she knew it, too.</p><p>“Bucky,” Wanda begins, her voice gentle with a suggestion of inquiry behind it, “do…do you know her?”</p><p>Bucky’s eyes snap up to look at her, again pleading with them to not give him away. He pauses, forcing himself to swallow before answering.</p><p>“I don’t know.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The unnatural glow of Bucky’s bathroom light highlights the various cuts and scratches decorating his face. Jutting his chin out to get a closer look at a particular mark, he runs light fingers over the new blemish. A sigh falls from his lips as he drops his hand, roughly gripping the edges of the sink. His eyes scrunch closed while he gently sways back and forth on his feet. Mild flashbacks from the previous day fill his mind again, and a quiet groan erupts from his chest.</p><p>For quite some time, it felt as if his head and heart were on two different rides with no end in sight. Until yesterday, when the vicious cycling came to an irrefutable crash and burn during the mission—he loved you.</p><p>He was finally off the ride, but no less confused.</p><p>The realization, although as clear as an early morning fog, is still an obvious one, and he needs to see you again. Maybe even talk to you in an attempt to tame the raging storm that’s destroying his insides, particularly his heart.</p><p>After his conversation with Wanda, Bucky had been on edge the rest of the day. He slept like shit, tossing and turning while his thoughts continuously replayed the mission. And when he pictured you in the solitary room downstairs, sleep wasn’t even an option.</p><p>The elevator ride to the ground floor has Bucky’s stomach doing flips, and it’s not just from the elevation change. Guards remain outside the double doors of your room, one giving Bucky a short nod as he approaches.</p><p>Walking inside, Bucky is met with the faces of Tony, Steve, and Bruce. All three men stand before the one-way mirror. Bruce is slightly in the background as he reads over a file, presumably yours. Bucky steps up to the window, a quick surge of adrenaline rushing through his veins as he peers at what is on the other side.</p><p>You, laying motionless on the bed facing away from the window.</p><p>“Has she said anything?” Bucky questions in a low voice.</p><p>“Nothing yet,” Steve responds, pulling a hand away from his chin and tucking it under the arm crossed over his chest. “She hasn’t really said anything or moved since the sedative wore off.”</p><p>Bucky watches on as Dr. Cho checks your vitals, trying her best to work around your still form.</p><p>“What if I went in, and…” Bucky’s voice trails for a moment. “And tried to talk to her?”</p><p>All eyes turn to Bucky and he feels the stares itching his skin. He glances from one face to the other, then back to Steve.</p><p>“Because that’s a good idea,” Tony sarcastically quips. “Two former deadly assassins in the same room together? Yeah, I don’t think there’s much that could go wrong there.” A light scoff as he turns to look back through the window.</p><p>“Yeah, I don’t know…” Bruce agrees with a soft, unsure tone.</p><p>“I’m being serious…” Bucky quietly states, his eyes staring straight into Steve’s. “If…If we were kept together when we were with Hy-Hyrda,” a throat clear, “then maybe she’ll recognize me and I don’t know…talk to me?”</p><p>The muscles of Steve’s jaw are twitching as he ponders his friend’s proposition. Then, he begins to slowly nod. “Alright.”</p><p>“What?!” Tony and Bruce exclaim in disbelief.</p><p>A firm look is on Steve’s face when he turns to explain his reasoning.</p><p>“What Bucky says makes sense. She hasn’t said a word to anyone, probably because she doesn’t trust us yet. But maybe if she sees someone that she was kept with, she’ll say something.”</p><p>The two men stare at the Captain with looks of unease, but they don’t argue.</p><p>“Alright, fine,” Tony sighs in frustration, holding his hands up, “but if and when shit hits the fan, I get to tell you ‘I told you so’, got it?” He raises an eyebrow at Steve, his large brown eyes unwavering.</p><p>A slight eye roll from Steve before he turns back to Bucky and gives him a confident nod to head into the room.</p><p>Slow steps carry Bucky to the doorway of your room, nausea rising with each movement that brings him closer. By the time he presses his thumb onto the fingerprint pad, he can feel every frantic thump of his heart pounding against his chest and there’s a nervous sweat building on his skin. Methodical, deep breaths are forced out to calm himself.</p><p>The lock of the door clicks once his thumbprint is registered, and then he reaches for the handle with a shaky hand. As he opens the door and walks inside, all sensation seems to evaporate from his body, leaving behind a fierce numbness.</p><p>Dr. Cho gives Bucky a hesitant glance as she passes him to exit the room. Then, the sound of the door closing and locking has the weight of his senses crashing back into him like the force of a merciless ocean wave, shocking his body as he feels everything all at once.</p><p>His eyes are slightly blinded by the lights, brighter on this side of the window. His nostrils fill with the sterile, yet musty smell of the room. His mouth is dry, tongue scratchy against his hard palate in search of moisture. He hears what he is almost certain is the sound of your muffled heartbeat.</p><p>And on his skin, every hair is standing on end as he feels the tingling of realization it’s just you and him—alone.</p><p>Despite the noise of Dr. Cho leaving and the presence of another, you remain motionless on the bed. Bucky, too, remains rooted to the spot, unsure of what he should say or do.</p><p>But then a quiet sniffle breaks Bucky’s trance, and he realizes you are crying. He opens his mouth to call your name, but quickly snaps it shut. Not knowing your name for so long, it feels odd to say it out loud.</p><p>Instead, his subconscious offers a different name to call you. A word that wasn’t a part of his everyday vocabulary, so he finds it a little strange he thinks of it now. But this name feels right, familiar in a way.</p><p>Bucky’s voice is hushed, shaky, as he calls out to you.</p><p>“Lotus?”</p><p>Minor recognition is in his tone as the name rings back in his ears, his conscious mind realizing he’s used this name before. And there’s a faint known sweetness on the tip of his tongue from where the last syllable lingers.</p><p>At the sound of Bucky’s voice, you slowly roll onto your back, peering over your shoulder at him. A single tear streaks down your temple. You don’t say anything, only stare.</p><p>Bucky quietly clears his throat before he tries again.</p><p>“Lotus?”</p><p>Hearing the name for a second time, you wearily get to your feet, turning towards Bucky. An unreadable expression on your face, eyes red and watery from crying, a crease between your brows.</p><p>The room is silent as you continue to gaze at one another, the faintest of smiles beginning to take form on Bucky’s lips as he realizes you responded to the name he called you.</p><p>
  <em>She remembers.</em>
</p><p>He takes a few cautious steps forward and begins raising his right hand to reach for you but stops when he notices your undesirable reaction to his nearing presence.</p><p>“Lotus, I…It’s me,” he insists softly, bringing both hands to his chest and moving towards you again. “I’m here. I’m—”</p><p>“Stop.”</p><p>Bucky jerks to a halt, blinking in confusion at your demand. Your voice sounds different compared to when he heard it on the mission. No longer shaky or scared, you speak sternlyand with conviction.</p><p>“Stop,” You repeat in a whisper. Your bottom lip begins to tremble and tears are resurfacing.</p><p>A pained expression starts to take over Bucky’s features as he watches rogue tears roll down your cheeks.</p><p>“Don’t…don’t you remember me?” He meekly asks as he starts walking in your direction once more.</p><p>“I said stop.”</p><p>“Lotus, please…”</p><p>His tone is becoming desperate, pleading, and he has about half a mind to not drop to his knees right in front of you and beg.</p><p>Beg you to please, please just remember.</p><p>
  <em>Remember me.</em>
</p><p>For nearly 70 years he knew nothing but darkness and loneliness. Accepted the pain that came with the abuse, the agony that came with the torture. Yet through the iniquity, he found something. He discovered a love that made it all worth it.</p><p>A love that inspired hope.</p><p>Hope that there was more to his life of misery and suffering. Hope that gave him something to hold onto, because what he and this woman shared was real. He knew it then and he knows it now.</p><p>But to have you so close, yet so far has his heart breaking. And there are tears in his eyes now, too.</p><p>As he approaches your trembling figure, he shakily extends his right hand to touch the tips of your fingers.</p><p>“Don’t touch me,” you spit, harshly jerking your hand from him and stepping away.</p><p>“Wha—what’s wrong?”</p><p>He reaches for you again, this time grabbing your shoulders to hold you firmly in front of him, hoping that if you stand right before him you would recognize him.</p><p>“I said, don’t touch me!”</p><p>You bring your arms up in front of your body, forearms connecting with the inside of Bucky’s to release the hold he has on you, and shove him in the opposite direction. He stumbles backwards several feet and Bucky looks down at his chest, stunned at your strength and at the reality you don’t know who he is.</p><p>“Lotus…”</p><p>“Stop calling me that!”</p><p>Your expression is torn between exasperation and despair as you sob, hands covering your ears, gripping at the hair around them.</p><p>“Get away from me!”</p><p>There’s a faint pounding from the other side of the window, a warning, as Bucky begins to step towards you again, his own cries boiling up inside him.</p><p>“Please…”</p><p>Reaching for your hand a third time, he quickly stops as you raise a fist. Instead, he blocks the blow with his metal arm, tightly grabbing your wrist and pulling you into his body. Like a vice, he secures you close to him, his opposite hand grasping your other arm.</p><p>“It’s me!”</p><p>Your chests heave together, eyes wild for different reasons as you stare at each other.</p><p>“Let me…go.” You struggle in Bucky’s grip, causing his hands to clench the muscles of your arms even tighter.</p><p>“No,” he firmly states. “Not until…not until…” His voice fails as a faint, wretched sob erupts from his chest.</p><p>“Get off of me!” Tears fall from your eyes, but your voice is stern.</p><p>When you realize Bucky’s hold is too tight, you rear your head back, forehead connecting with the bridge of his nose. He lets out a groan, his grip loosening just enough for you to quickly twist your arms and release Bucky’s hands from around them. Then you swiftly take a step back to give Bucky’s stomach a hard kick, knocking the wind out of him. Doubling over, he clutches the pained area and heaves for air.</p><p>As Bucky stands upright, his eyes connect with yours. Your expression is hard, angry, as you catch your breath, hands squeezed into tight fists at your sides. Residual tears roll down your cheeks as you stare back.</p><p>“Go away,” you command flatly.</p><p>Then, something inside Bucky snaps.</p><p>He’s angry now, too. Angry at Hydra for what they did to the both of you. Angry at you for not remembering. And angry at himself for his reaction and getting his hopes up.</p><p>He stalks towards you because even though you’re screaming and crying for him to go away, to leave you alone, Bucky can’t. He needs you to remember.</p><p>He needs you to remember him.</p><p>But just as he starts to step towards you, the door behind him opens and strong hands are around his arms, pulling him away. Angry and sad tears blur his vision, your figure becoming distorted as he’s dragged from the room.</p><p>“Buck, c’mon,” Steve utters directly into his ear, escorting him into the hallway.</p><p>“What the hell was that?!” Tony’s voice booms from behind. He stomps toward them, eyes wide and brow deeply furrowed in outrage.</p><p>Bruce is close behind, attempting to hold Tony back to prevent him from doing anything rash.</p><p>“Tony…” Steve starts, trying to ease the situation he’s partly to blame for.</p><p>Tony ignores him, his stare fixated on the former assassin’s crumbling figure. “Huh, Barnes? What the hell was that in there? Don’t you think when she said ‘leave me alone’ the first time, that, oh I don’t know, you should’ve left her alone?!”</p><p>Heavy breaths fall from Bucky’s lips as he starts to pace. Tears roll down his cheeks, hands grab and pull at his hair. He can feel a panic attack coming on and he’s doing everything in his power to stop it.</p><p>“Tony,” Steve tries once more with warning.</p><p>Tony ignores him for a second time. “Get it together, Barnes. Or I’ll make damn sure you never see her again.”</p><p>With that, Tony marches back towards the viewing room, but briefly stops to call after Steve, pointing an accusatory finger in the Captan’s direction. “Oh, and I told you so.” With one final glare, he steps inside and slams the door.</p><p>Bruce gives the two super soldiers a sad, almost apologetic look before following the agitated billionaire.</p><p>Once they’re alone, Steve turns to look at his friend. Bucky has his hands pressed firmly to the concrete wall before him, head hung low, attempting to control his breathing.</p><p>“Buck?” Steve questions softly, walking slowly towards Bucky’s still form. When he didn’t get an answer, he tries again. “Buck?”</p><p>At the second call of his name, Bucky picks his head up to look at Steve. Eyes damp but breathing stable.</p><p>“I’m sorry,” he mumbles.</p><p>“What happened?”</p><p>Unlike Tony, Steve’s questioning is tender.</p><p>Bucky remains silent for a moment, his watery gaze trained on his Steve’s concerned expression. A heavy sigh before he drops his head again, unable to look at his friend as he confesses.</p><p>“I…I know her,” he says softly, voice shaking. “We…we, uh…” a deep breath then a throat clear, “we’ve known each other for a long time, I think.”</p><p>A deep crease forms between Steve’s brow, arms crossed and lips in a tight line as he listens to Bucky’s words. “Why didn’t you tell us? Tell me?”</p><p>“I…I don’t know,” Bucky sighs, finally pushing off from the wall and standing upright to face Steve, hands on his hips. “I wasn’t sure at first, if I…if I knew her. But now I am. I know her.”</p><p>“Why weren’t you sure before?”</p><p>“Because…because she was just a face I would see in my dreams sometimes. I didn’t have any real memories of her.”</p><p>“Is that why you looked a little freaked out during the mission briefing?”</p><p>Bucky nods, a deep breath forced through his nose.</p><p>“Jesus, Buck,” sighs Steve, dropping his arms and mirroring his friend’s stance. “You should’ve told me. I wouldn’t have let you go on the mission.”</p><p>“I know, I know,” Bucky whines, releasing the hold on his hips and pacing a few steps in front of Steve. “I fucked up, I’m sorry.”</p><p>“Well, I can’t let you go in there again, you know that right?” Steve looks at Bucky with a stern,but gentle expression. “At least, not for a while.”</p><p>Again, Bucky nods in response as he still paces. After a heavy sigh, he stops moving to stare directly at Steve, eyes glistening.</p><p>“Why didn’t she remember me?”</p><p>It was Steve’s turn to sigh.</p><p>“I don’t know, Buck.” His voice is compassionate, a sense of sadness for his friend in his answer. “Who knows what Hydra has done to her or what they were doing to her when we found her.”</p><p>The skin over Bucky’s jaw jumps as he clenches his molars, thoughts spiraling to memories of the chair that would wipe their conscious clean, turning them back into the vacant weapons Hydra saw them as.</p><p>“Listen,” Steve starts, glancing to his feet, “I think,” a sigh as he looks back up to Bucky, “I think it would be best if you didn’t come down here anymo—“<br/><br/>“No!” exclaims Bucky, eyes growing wide. The thought creates knots in his stomach and pressure in his chest. “No, please, Steve. I won’t try and go in, but…but just let me see her. I need to see her.” A beat passes. “Please.”</p><p>Steve remains quiet for a moment as he contemplates Bucky’s pleas. “Fine, but only if you remain behind the glass. You can’t go in, Buck. I’m serious.”<br/><br/>“No, I won’t try to go in,” Bucky replies earnestly.</p><p>“And you can’t come down here alone.”</p><p>“Okay.”</p><p>“Also, I’m putting in a new order to your therapist,” Steve states as he begins to step backwards towards the viewing room. “You need to talk about this with him and tell him everything.”</p><p>All Bucky can do is nod in agreement while Steve opens the door. They exchange one last look before Steve gives Bucky a final nod, then disappears inside the room with Tony and Bruce.</p><p>Bucky grits his teeth, nostrils flaring with heavy inhales and exhales as he paces again, fists clenching in frustration.</p><p>“Fuck!” He screams into the emptiness of the hallway, metal fist whirring and connecting with the cement wall in front of him.</p><p>A crumbling, chalky hole appears when he pulls his hand back. Shaking his fist, pieces of gray rock fall to the floor. Then he drags the back of his hand over his thigh, grumbling to himself as he does.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Chapter 6</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Journals of varying colors and sizes cover the floor beside Bucky’s bed as he pages through one after the other.</p><p>Before arriving at the Compound, he was able to get his hands on a brown leather journal that he quickly filled up. After he visited the Smithsonian to learn about that part of his past, Bucky got the sudden urge to write everything down. Every thought, every detail, whether big or small, was written down in the hopes it would trigger something, <em>anything</em>.</p><p>Memories of his family, friends, anything from his life before he became The Asset. And everything in between.</p><p>He wrote so much and so often it was hard to keep track of what these books contained. Most were filled with single words: names, places, objects. Random lines trying to connect the blurry dots of who he was and where he came from. Question marks littered the fading pages as he tried to remember. So many question marks.</p><p>It had been quite awhile since he last wrote in his journals. Something his therapist wasn’t too thrilled about at first, but attempted to twist it into a positive light: Bucky was finally beginning to get a hold of his reality.</p><p>However, Bucky was starting to question things again.</p><p>Currently, he’s hoping there’s something in his journals about you. There had to be <em>something </em>in one of these books that will help uncover some concrete memories of you and your time together before. It would be very odd to him if he didn’t write at least a few words about the mysterious woman from his dreams.</p><p>Determined blue eyes scan page after page, looking over the random words in his scratchy handwriting. Strands of hair fall in Bucky’s face while he continues his search, annoyed fingers brushing them back behind his ears only for them to fall forward again.</p><p>Then, just as he’s pushing another rogue piece behind his ear, Bucky catches sight of it—an entry dedicated to you. His hands still for a moment before he shakily reaches for the book to bring it closer.</p><p>
  <em>A woman. In my dreams. Is she real? Friend? Enemy?</em>
</p><p>A few page flips forward and Bucky finds another entry.</p><p>
  <em>Woman again. A room. Not enemy. Friend?</em>
</p><p>Additional page flips and Bucky discovers more scattered entries referencing you. His notes contain vague mentions of being at Hydra together, which has Bucky digging through his conscious memories for <em>something</em> that’s real and not just a part of his dreams.</p><p>Woman. Dark room. Smile. Touch. Lover?</p><p><em>A dark room</em>?</p><p>Eyes scrunch together as he places the book in his lap, the base of his palms pressing hard into his eyes.</p><p>
  <em>A room, a room, a room…</em>
</p><p>Hands move to grip at his hair from the roots as Bucky’s eyes read over the words again and again, willing his brain to delve deeper into the locked parts of his dark past.</p><p>There are few rooms he remembers while he was held as Hydra’s prisoner—the programming room, the room with the cryo chamber, the room they sometimes took him to for a hose down after a mission…</p><p>
  <em>What other room?</em>
</p><p>Looking further into the journal he hopes there are more entries he can read that spark a new memory.</p><p>
  <em>A dark room. Two beds. What is Lotus?</em>
</p><p>A sharp inhale as the word Lotus stares back at him. His subconscious knew this word held meaning to him and he quickly rereads the entry again.</p><p>
  <em>A dark room with two beds?</em>
</p><p>Bucky’s gaze drifts to one of the large windows in his room. Focusing on the vast trees at the edge of the Compound, he watches as the leaves dance in the wind, and his mind drifts back to an almost forgotten life.</p><p>
  <strong>
    <em>A small room made up of four stone walls, a cold concrete floor, and two cots on opposite sides of the space. A rectangular window is carved out high on the far wall between the beds, big enough to allow a few rays of moonlight to shine through.</em>
  </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>
    <em>To the Hydra operatives, it’s simply known as The Holding Room, the place where the Assets are kept when time between missions is too short for them to be put back in cryo.</em>
  </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>
    <em>But to the Assets, it was their sanctuary.</em>
  </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>
    <em>They never knew when they would be brought to this room, and when they were, they were usually alone. But on the rarest of occasions when they were placed together, it was as if all the stars in the universe aligned.</em>
  </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>
    <em>The room was always dark and cold. But together, they made it their own.</em>
  </strong>
</p><p>Bucky’s eyes quickly flit back to the page before him. The words are blurry as tears pool in his eyes.</p><p>He remembers now. He remembers the dark room and being there with <em>you</em>.</p><p>With his Lotus<em>.</em></p><p>__________</p><p>Your reflection stares back at you as you sit on the edge of the white linen bed facing the one way mirror. Hands rest gently on the tops of your thighs. Features blank, void of any emotion, while your eyes scan down your face and body, moving your head slightly from side to side as you take it all in.</p><p>It’s been a long time since you last saw your own reflection. Your eyes are dull and sunken in from exhaustion and lack of proper nutrition. Your hair is tamed, for the most part, and you gently touch it to feel something.</p><p>Glancing down to your frame and scanning from chest to feet, you wonder how tall you are. Your eyes catch sight of an area of skin poking out from under the white shirt you wear. Lifting a slow hand, you gently caress the raised skin by your collarbone that leads to your shoulder.</p><p>A scar.</p><p>One of many it seems as you continue to slightly move your shirt around to get more glimpses of your body.</p><p>Scars from what, you aren’t entirely sure of.</p><p>There are a lot of things you aren’t sure of, but it seems you’re used to not knowing anything. When you awoke in the white room, you had no desire or urge to find a way out or find someone to talk to. From the few vague memories you had, it seemed you were better off being compliant or being left alone.</p><p>And then a man came to see you in this white room. A man who called you a name that triggered something inside you. You didn’t recognize the man or the name, but he was insistent you knew each other. The only thoughts and feelings that surged through you when he approached you and called you that name were bad ones, and you just wanted him to leave you alone. You aren’t sure how long you’ve been in this white room, but you haven’t seen that man since, and you’re relieved by that.</p><p>A sigh from your lips as you glance to your hands in your lap. There’s a quiet rumble from your stomach and you place a gentle hand on top of it. You’re getting hungry again and you’re able to deduce it’s most likely some time in the afternoon. Looking up to the window in front of you, knowing there are people on the other side, you hope they bring you something to eat soon.</p><p>The single camera to your left catches your attention and you wonder who would bring your lunch today. There was a woman doctor who has checked on you multiple times since waking up in this room. And a man doctor, you think, who would give you injections at night to help you sleep. They were the ones who usually brought you your meals, and were the only other people you’ve seen a part from <em>him.</em></p><p>Several minutes felt like they pass when the sound of the only door in the room opening brings your attention to it. A man appears from the other side. A different man from before.</p><p>His hair is blonde and brushed away from his face. Calm and friendly blue eyes look at you while he holds a tray of food. Cautious steps as he walks further into the room towards the single table, and a soft smile for you when he sets down the tray.</p><p>“Hi, um,” he clears his throat. “My name is Steve.”</p><p>A few blinks is the response you give to his introduction.</p><p>Reaching for the only chair in the room, he slides it to sit in front of you. He’s quiet for a moment as he scans over your face, trying to read you.</p><p>“Do…do you know your name?”</p><p>His voice is kind, you think.</p><p>More blinks before you are looking to the floor, eyes moving incessantly over the white surface as you try to pull an answer from somewhere inside your nearly empty mind.</p><p>Tears begin welling in your eyes, your breath quickening. You open your mouth to say something, <em>anything</em>, but the only name you can think of is what the other man called you.</p><p>But that could’t be your name, though.</p><p>“I…I…” you stammer, a few tears trickling down your cheeks.</p><p>“Hey, shh,” Steve soothes, instinctively placing a tender hand on your knee. “It’s okay, it’s okay.” He continues to calm you, gently squeezing your knee again before holding his hands out to you.</p><p>You tentatively rest your trembling hands in his. Yours are much smaller in comparison, and you use that image to focus your mind and ease your nerves. One final deep breath, residual tears clearing from your eyes, and you finally look back up to Steve.</p><p>He pauses for a moment, eyes quickly flitting from one confused eye to the other before he speaks again.</p><p>“Your name is Y/N.”</p><p>A kind smile and soft grasp of your hands as he talks helps to relax you even more.</p><p>Your brow slightly furrows, and you look away from Steve as you process the new information.</p><p>“Y/N?” You quietly question, gazing back to him.</p><p>Steve hums in affirmation. “Your name is Y/N. Y/N Y/L/N.”</p><p>The name resonates inside your brain, ricochetting off the scarce information inside it, trying to stick to something. It’s foreign now, but you suppose the more you mull it over, it would become familiar.</p><p>Maybe you would even remember it for yourself one day.</p><p>“What else do you know about me?” You ask, tone gentle but desperate.</p><p>Steve’s lips form into a thin line as he carefully looks over your features. Another squeeze of your hands before he lets go and places them in your lap.</p><p>“I think a name is a good start for now.” A few soft pats to the back of your hands as he stands up. “Are you hungry?”</p><p>You glance over to the tray Steve is gesturing towards with an open hand. Nodding weakly, you allow him to assist you off the bed. He walks you over to the table, dragging the chair back to its original place and pushes it in once you sit down.</p><p>The food at this place is always good, you’ve learned. And today is no different.</p><p>On the white porcelain plate before you is a piece of fish, salmon you believe, with a bright, yellow lemon on top. A handful of fresh steamed string beans and roasted seasoned potatoes accompany the protein, along with a glass of ice water to wash it all down.</p><p>“Do you not like fish? Do you want something else?” Steve worriedly asks as he watches you stare at the food.</p><p>The answer to that question is ambiguous; you can’t tell him what you like or don’t like when it comes to food, or anything else for that matter.</p><p>You look up at him as he stands on the other side of the table, shaking your head gently. “This…this is fine.” You pick up the fork and begin to pick at the potatoes.</p><p>A quiet moment passes while you nibble at your food and then Steve is speaking once more.</p><p>“Would it be okay if a friend of mine came in and talked to you while you ate?”</p><p>Another look to Steve and you ponder for a minute. Steve seems kind and trustworthy, and like he wants to help.</p><p>“Okay.”</p><p>“She’s just going to talk with you, ask a few questions, alright?”</p><p>You nod, placing the fork down on your plate.</p><p>A tight lipped smile appears on Steve’s face followed by a nod of his own before he turns to exit the room. A brief moment later he’s back with another chair and a petite, youthful looking woman with long, reddish hair. She offers you a friendly smile as she takes the seat Steve places for her across the table.</p><p>You attempt to return the smile, but fall short and instead, focus on your plate. From the corner of your eye, you can see the two of them exchange a look before the woman gives Steve a confident tilt of her head. Steve glances between you and the other woman, meeting his gaze for a quick moment before he gives a curt nod and leaves the two of you alone.</p><p>The woman sitting across from you softly clears her throat, another kind smile on her face.</p><p>“My name is Wanda,” she introduces.</p><p>Your eyes shift from the plate to Wanda, catching a glimpse of the white bandage on her neck. “I’m sorry about that,” you quietly apologize, your eyes flitting back to the plate.</p><p>Wanda waves her hand briefly, an air of nonchalance in her response. “Don’t worry about that. Go ahead and eat, Y/N, I’m sure you’re hungry.” Wanda gestures to the plate of food on the table between you, which prompts you to slowly pick up your fork and resume eating.</p><p>When Wanda speaks again, she’s asking you questions that appear random on the surface, butyou have a feeling there’s a calculated reason hidden beneath the inquiries and within the pauses. First she’s asking if you can remember your name, and you admit you weren’t able to until Steve told you. Then she’s asking if you know where you are, and you can only shrug and shake your head.</p><p>“Do you know what year it is?”</p><p>Another head shake.</p><p>“Do you know why you’re here?”</p><p>“I…I don’t know.”</p><p>“That’s okay, Y/N,” she says softly.</p><p>Then, Wanda gives you some information about this place, referring to it as ‘The Compound,’ and what it’s intended for. She also tells you a little bit more about the people here, including ones you’ve met so far, apart from <em>him.</em></p><p>By the time you take the last bite of salmon, Wanda is finished. She graciously thanks you for talking with her and answering questions while she collects the dirty dishes from the table. Standing up, the kind red head gives you one final smile, along with a “see you around” before she disappears behind the metal door.</p><p>On the other side, Wanda is met with four different pairs of concerned eyes.</p><p>“Well?” Steve is the first to speak.</p><p>Wanda shrugs, placing the tray on the table beside her. “She’s being truthful,” she sighs, looking back to Steve.</p><p>“What about that alter ego of hers?” Tony quips. “Can we expect it to make an appearance any time soon?”</p><p>A shake of her head as Wanda turns her attention to him. “I don’t think so. Whatever Hydra had been doing to her when we got there, she wasn’t triggered. What I sensed back at the base is what I sensed just now; she’s scared, nervous.”</p><p>All eyes are on you through the window. You remain seated at the table, arms crossed in front of you with your head resting on top and facing away from their view.</p><p>“When she says she doesn’t know, she’s telling the truth.”</p><p>There’s a subtle sorrow behind Wanda’s words. Her gaze shifts from you to Bucky, who meets her eyes with a slight furrow to his brow and a tick of his jaw.</p><p>“So what do we do now?” Bruce questions from the back of the room, a pen clutched in his right hand as he crosses his arms.</p><p>Everyone’s eyes shift from one face to the other, a bout of silence falling over the room before Steve firmly declares.</p><p>“We call Dr. Walters and begin the deprogramming process.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Chapter 7</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The incessant <em>tick, tick, tick</em> of the clock helps Bucky keep his thoughts in order, similar to how a metronome helps musicians keep tempo. His therapist, Dr. Grey, is staring at him, hazel eyes peering over the silver rim of glasses.</p>
<p>“So, Bucky,” Dr. Grey begins, voice always calm, “Steve informed me there was an incident during your last mission a few days ago. Do you want to tell me about it?”</p>
<p>Although the question is posed as an option, like Bucky has a <em>choice</em> if wants to answer or not, he knows he doesn’t have one. If he did, he wouldn’t be here.</p>
<p>
  <em>Tick, tick, tick.</em>
</p>
<p>“Yeah, uh,” he clears his throat, gaze focusing on his hands clasped tightly together in his lap. “Well, back when I was with Hy-Hydra,” the word always sticking in his throat, “there was another…We were both Winter Soldiers.”</p>
<p>He chances a glance to his therapist who nods encouragingly for him to continue.</p>
<p>“Me and this other…this <em>woman</em>, we were sometimes kept in a room together.”</p>
<p>“And this woman, what was your relationship to her?” Dr. Grey questions, pen quickly scribbling across the notepad perched on his lap.</p>
<p>
  <em>Tick, tick, tick.</em>
</p>
<p>“I’m, um, I’m not too sure,” Bucky stutters, “I think, uh, I’m fairly certain we cared for each other.”</p>
<p>He pauses for a moment, brow furrowing as he recalls the way you pushed him away the other day. The next words are uttered lowly, sorrow lacing around the syllables.</p>
<p>“I think we might’ve loved each other."</p>
<p>A hum of acknowledgement from Dr. Grey. “You say you loved each other?”</p>
<p>Bucky nods hesitantly, sucking in his bottom lip while he looks to the older gentlemen.</p>
<p>“So, what happened on the mission when you saw her?”</p>
<p>“I froze.”</p>
<p>“And why do you think that happened?”</p>
<p>
  <em>Tick, tick, tick.</em>
</p>
<p>Exhaling heavily, eyes screwing shut because this conversation is making Bucky’s head <em>hurt</em>. Slowly and meticulously he expresses his reasoning to Dr. Grey.</p>
<p>“My nightmares, they were becoming less…violent, less unforgiving, because I would see this woman’s face. In the beginning, I didn’t know who she was, I wasn’t sure if she was even real or not.”</p>
<p>A pause while he collects his thoughts.</p>
<p>
  <em>Tick, tick, tick.</em>
</p>
<p>“But there was something inside me telling me that I knew her.” Flesh hand raises to his chest, palm over his heart, emphasizing his point.</p>
<p>“When I saw her picture during the mission briefing, it was like I had seen a ghost. It was starting to get real, too much for me to process, but I tried my best to keep it together. I <em>needed</em> to go on that mission. And then…and then, there she was.”</p>
<p>Both hands are upturned in front of him, as if you are standing right before him. “Strapped to a gurney, bloody and dirty, right in front of me, and suddenly I was at a lost of what to do. I guess… I don’t know, everything just hit me. I <em>do</em> know her, she<em> is</em> real, and my feelings<em> are </em>real. I was scared. I’m still scared.”</p>
<p>Wary blue eyes look to Dr. Grey who finishes up a note before looking to Bucky. There’s a thoughtfulness in Dr. Grey’s tone when he poses his next question.</p>
<p>“Scared of what?”</p>
<p>
  <em>Tick, tick, tick.</em>
</p>
<p>“I think I’m scared she won’t remember me…remember us.”</p>
<p>Bucky is picking at the skin around his thumb as he speaks; an anxious tick he acquired during his captivity with Hydra.</p>
<p>“When we were together before, all we had was each other. She’s the only thing that made my time with…with <em>them </em>worth it. All the pain, the torture, <em>all</em> of it was worth it because she was there with me, and she loved me. We loved each other.”</p>
<p>Dr. Grey readjusts his legs, crossing his arms over his lap as the pen twirls between his fingers.</p>
<p>“Do you remember the first time you met Y/N?”</p>
<p>Bucky can’t help the hitch in his breathing when he hears your name. Heart rate picking up and mind running wild, his gaze lingers on the floor as he recalls the first time he met his Lotus.</p>
<p>
  <em>Tick, tick, tick.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <strong>
    <em>Soldat sits in the Holding Room, tactile vest laid forgotten beside him and elbows pressing into the tops of his knees. Head hung low, hair shielding him from the harshness that is his reality.</em>
  </strong>
</p>
<p>
  <strong>
    <em>The sound of the door unlocking echoes against the stone walls. Soldat keeps his head down, eyes scrunching together because he isn’t ready to go back out. But when the hands of guards don’t come for him, he looks up.</em>
  </strong>
</p>
<p>
  <strong>
    <em>He watches on as two burly men dressed in all black unmercifully escort a woman into the room. She fights back with stifled screams of anger, and when she manages to free an arm, she quickly turns and strikes one of the guards in the jaw with a closed fist.</em>
  </strong>
</p>
<p>
  <strong>
    <em>The other guard pushes her further into the room, while the guard now tending to his bruised jaw pulls out a gun and places the barrel to the woman’s forehead.</em>
  </strong>
</p>
<p>
  <strong>
    <em>“Sdelay eto snova,” </em>
  </strong>
  <em>(Do that again) </em>
  <strong>
    <em>he says with malice, “i ya vyshibu tebe mozgi, printsessa.” </em>
  </strong>
  <em>(and I’ll blow your fucking brains out, princess)</em>
</p>
<p>
  <strong>
    <em>Soldat moves to stand, but then the gun is aimed at him.</em>
  </strong>
</p>
<p>
  <strong>
    <em>“Dazhe ne dumay ob etom.” </em>
  </strong>
  <em>(Don’t even think about it)</em>
</p>
<p>
  <strong>
    <em>The guard with the gun looks between Soldat and the woman. He spits on the floor at the woman’s feet before he lowers his weapon. </em>
  </strong>
</p>
<p>
  <strong>
    <em>Finally, the two guards leave the room, locking Soldat and the woman inside.</em>
  </strong>
</p>
<p>
  <strong>
    <em>Soldat’s eyes cautiously follow the woman’s figure. She moves to sit on the bed across from him. Her chest rising and falling as she heaves deeply. The woman’s eyes are trained to the floor, and Soldat takes the opportunity to survey her fully.</em>
  </strong>
</p>
<p>
  <strong>
    <em>Her hair, dirty and tangled, falls forward and obscures Soldat’s clear view of her face. She wears a tank top that was probably white at one time, but now is tinged slightly yellow from continuous wear.</em>
  </strong>
</p>
<p>
  <strong>
    <em>Soldat notices a gash of red by her shoulder, a stab wound if he had to guess. It looks poorly taken care of, like whoever attended to her after her mission was more distracted with doing other things.</em>
  </strong>
</p>
<p>
  <strong>
    <em>“You’re hurt,” Soldat states evenly.</em>
  </strong>
</p>
<p>
  <strong>
    <em>Defeated eyes meet icy blue. Her features remain impassive as she looks to Soldat then to the wound he referred to. She doesn’t say a word, her gaze now back on the dirty cement floor.</em>
  </strong>
</p>
<p>
  <strong>
    <em>A soft sigh of frustration fills the silence, and Soldat begins rummaging through his tactile vest. When he finds what he’s looking for, he moves to take the space beside the woman. White gauze, a small bottle of clear antibacterial solution, and bandages are placed on the bed. Now that he’s next to her, Soldat can better see the difference in their sizes.</em>
  </strong>
</p>
<p>
  <strong>
    <em>“This might hurt,” Soldat informs gently before dabbing at the bloody gash.</em>
  </strong>
</p>
<p>
  <strong>
    <em>The woman flinches when Soldat touches her, and he isn’t sure if it’s because she is in pain or she isn’t used to such tender handling. More than anyone, Soldat understood if it was the latter. Anger bubbles up inside him at what this woman could have gone through and what he himself has been subjected to at the hands of their captors.</em>
  </strong>
</p>
<p>
  <strong>
    <em>Wordlessly, Soldat continues to work at cleaning the woman’s injury and when he reaches for the bandages, she finally speaks.</em>
  </strong>
</p>
<p>
  <strong>
    <em>“Thank you.”</em>
  </strong>
</p>
<p>
  <strong>
    <em>It’s barely above a whisper, but Soldat hears it. His eyes snap to hers, watery but full of gratitude at his kindness. And it was in that moment, something inside Soldat changed.</em>
  </strong>
</p>
<p>
  <strong>
    <em>The broken pieces of his soul were beginning to mend, and for the first time since he entered this cold, dark room, he felt a rush of warmth flood his insides.</em>
  </strong>
</p>
<p>
  <em>__________</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Two pairs of eyes are on you as you sit quietly at the single table in your room. A pair of skeptical brown ones are to your left, standing in the corner. The other, a pair of reassuring blue ones, are sitting before you across the table.</p>
<p>“I don’t understand,” you say, looking between the two men. “Deprogramming?”</p>
<p>Steve nods his head, licking his lips before he responds. “We have someone who can help…reset what Hydra did to you, to your mind.”</p>
<p>“Yeah, y’see,” Tony begins, uncrossing his arms and hands finding their way into his pockets as he walks towards the table, “our good friends over at Hydra did some scrambling of your brain so whenever someone says the magic words, it sets off a trigger that turns you into a lean, mean, killing machine.”</p>
<p>“Tony,” Steve quietly admonishes, to which the billionaire shrugs a shoulder and gives the Captain a look as if to say ‘What? It’s the truth.’</p>
<p>Brow creasing, you process their words. Broken skin around your thumbnails begins to bleed as you pick at it; a habit you quickly learned you’re guilty of when you’re anxious. A whirlwind of thoughts and emotions are swarming around in your head.</p>
<p>“Y/N.” Steve’s soft call of your name breaks you out of the spell. “Y/N, we can help you.” A squeeze to your hands has you glancing down to where Steve has placed his own on top of yours.</p>
<p>“How do you know?” You question, voice wavering from the threat of tears. “How can you be sure?”</p>
<p>Tony clears his throat and he gazes to the floor. “We uh, we… Dr. Walters has done this before. She knows what she’s doing.”</p>
<p>Curious eyes flit from Tony to Steve, seeking reassurance from the Captain, who nods his head in confirmation.</p>
<p>“It’s true. Someone very close to me has been in your exact position, and she was able to help him.”</p>
<p>“Who?”</p>
<p>Looks of unease are shared between the two men, and it doesn’t go unnoticed by you. Your pulse quickens and palms are beginning to stick with sweat.</p>
<p>“<em>Him</em>?”</p>
<p>It’s quiet. The disbelief evident in your question. The nameless man who came to see you appearing in the forefront of your mind and you’re suddenly finding it difficult to breathe.</p>
<p>“I don’t…I can’t…I don’t want to see him,” you stammer between breaths. The taste of salt is on your lips from tears that have fulfilled their threat to fall.</p>
<p>“You don’t have to unless you want to, Y/N,” Steve reassures. “I promise.”</p>
<p>Through the glass, Bucky observes from the viewing room. Pressure is building in his chest as he continues to watch Steve comfort you. And the reason <em>why</em> you need comforting has his insides going cold and churning with despair.</p>
<p>
  <em>She doesn’t want to see me. She wants nothing to do with me.</em>
</p>
<p>Bucky can no longer take watching his best friend console the woman he loves. He rushes out of the room and barrels into the hallway. Finger pressing desperately at the elevator button to take him away.</p>
<p>Maybe if he gets far enough away it’ll hurt less.</p>
<p>He sees the double doors that lead to a hopeful, yet temporary respite. The fresh air hits him like a brick wall and he’s doubling over to control his breathing, eyes screwing shut from dizziness. Focusing on his surroundings, he hears the chirping of birds in the nearby trees, the heat of the sun on his skin, and the smell of freshly mowed grass.</p>
<p>“Are you okay?”</p>
<p>Bucky squeezes his eyes one final time before opening them. A long breath fills his lungs as he stands to face Wanda.</p>
<p>“Just needed a minute.” He tries to keep his voice even, but there’s an undermining quiver in his words as he teeters on the verge of a panic attack.</p>
<p>Wanda regards him for a moment. Pity soon colors her features and a sigh is passing through her lips.</p>
<p>“I know this is difficult for you, Bucky,” she starts with a compassionate tone, “and I’m not pretending to know what you’re going through right now, but if there’s anything I can say that will help, it would be to give it time.”</p>
<p>They stare at each other. Bucky is guarded, silent, then Wanda speaks again.</p>
<p>“Give her time.”</p>
<p>
  <em>Time.</em>
</p>
<p>Such an abstract concept; once meaningless to him during his time as The Asset. There were no mornings, afternoons, or nights for him with Hydra. Days, weeks, months, sometimes <em>years </em>passed by and he didn’t even know it.</p>
<p>Time meant <em>nothing</em> to him then.</p>
<p>But then he got a second chance. He got the semblance of a life back and time was no longer an arbitrary idea. Mornings were now filled with cups of coffee and talks with his childhood best friend. Afternoons consisted of sparring sessions with teammates and reading all the books he could get his hands on.</p>
<p>And nights.</p>
<p>Although not always forgiving, he had the chance, the <em>choice</em>, now to fall asleep in his own bed. Safe and warm, knowing he could get up and do it all over again the next day. Every second spent doing what he wanted was a reminder that he was no longer a prisoner.</p>
<p>Time meant <em>everything</em> to him now.</p>
<p>And, in spite of wanting nothing more than to spend every second he has with the lost and confused woman downstairs, he would wait for you. He would spare all his time in the world if it means he’ll get his Lotus back.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Chapter 8</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Despite the stark appearance of the room, there was still a comfort you found in it. The white walls and furniture insured the dark corners were empty, absent of any harmful threats lurking in the shadows.</p><p>The lingering need to be in a fight or flight response, to be prepared for anything, attached itself to you the moment you woke up in this room, and darkness was a heavy concept you wanted nothing to do with. You originally weren’t sure why these feelings manifested, but after your brief conversation with Steve and Tony, you started connecting the hazy dots.</p><p>However, staying in this waxen room and having a somewhat predictable routine filling your days, helped to ease the nearly constant state of hyperarousal your body seemed to be in.</p><p>There were lunches shared with Wanda. She was the one who often brought your afternoon meals now, two plates of the same dish she prepared herself. Conversations were usually one-sided, with Wanda leading, but they were still kept light and airy all the same. A pleasant distraction as you listened to her stories; forgetting your current situation and instead leaning into the idea you were sharing a catch-up meal with an old friend.</p><p>Painting was something you were beginning to learn you enjoyed. Steve introduced the activity one day when he came to see you. He brought along two miniature easels, blank canvases, and paint. The easels were placed on the table and after some encouragement from Steve, you joined him in painting some pictures.</p><p>The first time, you had no idea what to paint. You sat for several minutes watching as Steve’s brush glided across the white paper, colors blending and picture forming. The only thing you could think to do was copy what Steve painted. You produced a mediocre picture of a fruit bowl.</p><p>But the more you painted, the more you began to relax and gain some confidence. It required no thinking, no prerequisite other than being able to dip a brush into a pot of paint and connecting it to paper. It didn’t matter that you couldn’t remember anything, painting was abstract. You could make whatever you wanted and it would be neither right nor wrong.</p><p>Talking with Steve appeared to be helping, too. His calm blue eyes and reassuring tone whenever he spoke further convinced you this place was safe.</p><p>Because of this, the hesitancy you initially felt towards seeing Dr. Walters dissipated with Steve sitting beside you.</p><p>Dr. Walters appeared middle-aged, with darker hair that was beginning to grey around her temples. She introduced herself with a kind smile and a humble handshake when she stepped into the room.</p><p>“So, Y/N,” Dr. Walters begins, “I just want to take a moment to explain the process, or the journey as I like to call it, that we’ll be working through together.”</p><p>You sit on the other side of the table, nodding your head. Dr. Walters gives a small smile, a glint of hope in her green eyes.</p><p>“Okay, the first step is seeing what you can remember on your own…”</p><p>Panic crosses your features. Remembering is not something that was making itself readily available to you at the moment and worry sweeps through you that the process won’t work. Dr. Walters seems to notice this reaction and quickly assures you.</p><p>“It’s okay if you can’t remember anything. We’ll be able to rediscover any lost memories as we go.” She smiles again, but then it quickly turns into a slight frown. “The next step in the journey can be a bit more complicated though.” There’s a gentle sternness in her tone, a warning that this won’t be easy. “To help you remember things from before, and undo what was done to your mind, I like to use a form of hypnosis.”</p><p>Regarding her with a wary look, you remain silent as Dr. Walters continues.</p><p>“Utilizing hypno-psychotherapy methods allows you to unlock your subconscious, and give me access to your thoughts, feelings, and memories. I’ll be able to alter the interrelations of past memories, even suppressed ones, and any correlations with negative thoughts or behaviors. Or in this case, words.”</p><p>You aren’t entirely sure what Dr. Walters means by her explanation, but there’s a convincing and confident aura about her that has you trusting her and nodding once more.</p><p>“The final step, which can sometimes be the most difficult, is ensuring desensitization.” Dr. Walters pauses to confirm you are still listening before continuing. “When the time comes, we will need to be certain what Hydra did to your mind has been completely reversed. We will have to go through the trigger words to ensure they no longer affect you. If I do my job correctly, then this last step will work without problem, but it will still require some willpower from you. As long as we work through this journey together and you remain open to my help, then we’ll be able to undo what’s been done to you.”</p><p>There’s a moment of silence, Dr. Walters sitting across from you with slight trepidation as she waits for a response.</p><p>“Okay,” you reply, attempting to sound confident, but your voice defies when it comes out low.</p><p>A relieved smile spreads across Dr. Walters face as she releases a breath and she glances in Steve’s direction, who offers an approving tilt of his head.</p><p>“I think a good start would be four times a week,” Dr. Walters informs. “We can adjust the frequency as we go, if we need to. But it’s important we build a trusting relationship for this process to work, Y/N.” She’s looking at you to ensure there’s an understanding between you both, which she finds in the head nod you offer her. “Just remember that I’m here to help you.”</p><p>“Thank you,” you state quietly, your gaze shifting from the optimistic woman before you to the smooth surface of the table.</p><p>“You don’t need to thank me, Y/N,” Dr. Walters replies warmly. She takes a chance and reaches across the table, placing a hand over yours. A comforting squeeze before she speaks again. “We’ll officially start tomorrow. And I’ll talk with Mr. Stark about the possibility of conducting our sessions in my office.”</p><p>A weak smile pulls at the corners of your lips, grateful there’s a chance you’ll be able to keep this room a haven for yourself. The inevitable distress that would result from your sessions not getting the opportunity to taint the white walls with its blackness.</p><p>__________</p><p>Readjusting his position, Bucky moves the journal he holds from one knee to the other. He takes a moment to peer out the large bay window he sits in, observing the grey clouds as he flexes his right hand in an attempt to ease the stiffness in his joints.</p><p>Since meeting with his therapist, Bucky began writing in his journals again. Little persuasion was needed from his therapist to convince him it would be a good idea. With you back in his life, Bucky wanted to record every memory he presently had of you, and any new memories that would hopefully make themselves known.</p><p>His hope was one day he could show you. Let you read through the events of your past together and show you although you found each other under horrific circumstances, you were together and you loved each other. He hoped one day your mind would forgive itself and give your memories back, too.</p><p>Your memories of him.</p><p>A soft knock on his bedroom door pulls Bucky from his wondering thoughts. Turning to look at the dark wood of the door, he voices consent to the person on the other side to enter. Steve appears in the entryway, a cautious look on his features as he regards his best friend.</p><p>“Hey,” he quietly says, shutting the door behind him and moving to sit on the bed.</p><p>“Hey, punk,” Bucky responds. He closes his journal and places it beside him, pen still in hand.</p><p>There’s a moment before Steve speaks again, a deep breath filling his lungs as he broaches the sensitive topic that brought him to his friend’s room.</p><p>“So,” he begins, “I just wanted to let you know Y/N agreed to participate in the deprogramming sessions with Dr. Walters.” Steve chances a glance to Bucky, giving him a small smile.</p><p>The beating of his heart is picking up and Bucky’s right palm is beginning to sweat, physical representations of the anxiety he experiences from the uncertainty of your situation.</p><p>“O-okay,” Bucky replies quietly before clearing his throat.</p><p>Steve nods his head and then continues. “The plan is to start tomorrow. Dr. Walters was able to convince Tony to let Y/N come to her office for the sessions.”</p><p>“That’s great.” Bucky’s voice is even, but the pen he holds almost snaps from the grip he has on it.</p><p>He’s trying to keep calm, but the vortex of resentment and desire inside him is testing his limits. Resentment that’s it not him but Steve who is going through this process with you. It’s Steve who gets to be there for you and reassure you everything will be okay.</p><p>And though resentment is a factor in this spiraling whirlwind of emotions, desire is the driving force forging the swelling storm to greater heights. Desire that this process works and finally brings his Lotus back to him.</p><p>
  <em>Give her time.</em>
</p><p>“Yeah, I think it’s great, too.” Steve can sense his friend is on edge. “So, listen,” he pauses, a heavy sigh serving as a precursor to the difficult words he’s preparing to articulate. “Wanda is planning a team dinner for Y/N in a few days.” There’s a pause as he gauges Bucky’s reaction to the information.</p><p>Again, Bucky keeps his features even, the clenching of his jaw the only indication he’s hearing Steve’s words.</p><p>“Anyways, I want you there, Buck,” Steve confidently says. “You are apart of this team and you should be there.”</p><p>Aqua blue eyes full of assertiveness meet steely blue ones full of optimism.</p><p>“I’d…I’d like that.” Bucky’s voice is small, anxiety still festering within him, but there’s a break in his hardened facade and a smile is taking form on his lips.</p><p>Steve nods his head approvingly at his friend, reaching forward to gently pat Bucky on the shoulder.</p><p>A moment of silence passes between them until Steve cautiously breaks it with a question.</p><p>“Can I…Can I ask you something about…Y/N?”</p><p>Blinking a few times, Bucky silently nods his head in response, glancing to the floor of his room while he braces himself.</p><p>“When you saw her,” Steve begins, “you called her a name…’Lotus’. Can I ask why?”</p><p>Lips pressed firmly as they rub together, eyes flitting over the different patterns in the wood of the floorboards while Bucky gathers his thoughts.</p><p>“My Ma…” he trails, a wistful sigh passing through his lips, “she loved flowers, you remember that?” He looks to Steve when he poses the question.</p><p>Steve is nodding in acknowledgement, quiet while he waits for Bucky to continue.</p><p>“She always had fresh flowers around the house. When I was younger, I’d sometimes sit and watch her clip the stems and arrange them while I flipped through one of her books. It had thousands of pictures of all different kinds of flowers.” He pauses, a soft smile of nostalgia curling his lips. “When I asked her what her favorite flower was, she told me it was a Lotus flower.”</p><p>Tears are forming in his eyes and he quickly swallows the lump that’s building in his throat.His brow creases in thought. “Then I asked her ‘why that flower?’, and she said a Lotus flower is special because even though it grows in the dirtiest of waters, in the ugliest of places, a beautiful flower still blooms. She said in some cultures it symbolizes strength and rebirth.”</p><p>Bucky clears his throat, fluttering his eyes a few times to resist the fall of tears. “I guess there was still a part of me that remembered that, and when I was in that room with…Y/N… I…I don’t know. It just made sense.”</p><p>Steve is looking at Bucky, sorrow wrinkling his features and heart clenching for his friend. Opening his mouth to say something, he quickly closes it, throat bobbing as he swallows in an attempt to dissolve the forming wedge of sadness. Voice low, he finally speaks.</p><p>“I really hope we’re able to help her, Buck.” He leans forward to comfortingly squeeze his friend’s shoulder again. “Really.”</p><p>Pressing his lips into a tight smile, Bucky nods his head at Steve’s words. His voice is no higher than a whisper when he responds.</p><p>“Me too.”</p><p>
  <em>
    <strong>Guards bring Soldat to the Holding Room, tight grips only loosening when its ensured The Asset is securely inside. Standing motionless, Soldat waits until the door closes before he moves further into the room.</strong>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <strong>The sound of muffled cries fill the otherwise silent space, and Soldat’s gaze instinctively falls to the woman in front of him. Slowly walking towards the bed she lays on, Soldat kneels beside it and metal fingers reach to brush the hair from her face.</strong>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <strong>Fresh burns discolor the skin around her temples. Harsh red rings irritate the area and Soldat caresses a cool, silver thumb over them.</strong>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <strong>“It’s going to be okay, Lotus.”</strong>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <strong>Watery eyes glance up to dead blue ones that only seem to come alive when he looks to the broken woman before him.</strong>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <strong>In a hushed, strained voice, the woman responds.</strong>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <strong>“What did you just call me?”</strong>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <strong>“Lotus.”</strong>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <strong>“Why?”</strong>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <strong>Soldat pauses, because he’s not exactly sure why.</strong>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <strong>The word seemingly means nothing to him, but regarding this woman, someone who has stirred feelings inside him that he was sure were long forgotten since arriving at this place, the name is fitting.</strong>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <strong>“Just feels right.”</strong>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <strong>The woman reaches for Soldat’s hand, and he willingly allows her to place a chaste kiss to the metal palm before she rests it back on her hot cheek. Soldat remains beside her, gently stroking the singed skin until he’s certain she has fallen asleep.</strong>
  </em>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Chapter 9</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The smooth brushed metal is cold against your wrist. Your thumb and forefinger fiddle with the band as you stare absentmindedly at the blinking yellow light.</p><p>“Is this really necessary?” Steve questions with crossed arms, an unimpressed look on his face as he watches you sitting on the bed.</p><p>“Uh, yes, I would say so,” Tony responds, a hint of sarcasm ringing in his words as he configures the bracelet with a tablet in his hands. “She’s an ex-Hydra assassin, can’t say I trust her quite yet.” He stops what he’s doing to glance at you. “No offense, sweetheart.”</p><p>You give him a tight lipped smile and a shoulder shrug. “It’s okay.”</p><p>“Alright, done,” Tony states, folding the tablet and dropping his hands to his sides. “So here’s the deal, this shiny little bracelet is a tracker.” He’s tapping the metal as he speaks. “It’ll keep tabs of your whereabouts around the Compound, and it’ll alert us if you try to escape.”</p><p>You nod your head in understanding.</p><p>“Just…don’t try to leave, okay?” Tony holds your gaze, a stern but affectionate look taking over his features, and you nod once again.</p><p>The two men leave the room, but Steve pauses for a moment to offer you an apologetic look before closing the door.</p><p>“A tracking bracelet, really Tony?” Bucky questions annoyed when the billionaire enters the viewing room.</p><p>Tony is placing his tablet on the desk and begins syncing your tracker with the computers. He doesn’t turn around to face the <em>other</em> ex-Hydra assassin inside the Compound when he responds.</p><p>“Yes, Barnes, a tracking bracelet. You of all people should understand why it’s necessary.”</p><p>“She hasn’t shown an ounce of hostility towards anyone but me since she’s been here. You have her locked up in this goddamn room and now you’re making her wear a tracking bracelet.” Bucky’s voice is wavering as he attempts to keep his emotions in check. “You’re treating her like a fucking animal!”</p><p>At that, Tony swiftly turns around, fire blazing in his eyes.</p><p>“An animal?! Sorry, but if ensuring everyone’s safety and making sure your little girlfriend doesn’t cause any damage is treating her like an ‘animal', then yeah, I guess I am. And you know what? I’d do it over and over again.”</p><p>The malice in his tone has Bucky’s jaw twitching and chest heaving. The two stare each other down until there’s a light touch to Bucky’s shoulder.</p><p>“C’mon, Buck,” Steve says quietly. He silently urges his friend to drop the subject and gently encourages him to step out into the hallway.</p><p>“You know he’s right,” Steve comments when they exit the viewing room. “As much as I don’t like it either, it’s what needs to be done.”</p><p>There’s a side-eye glare in Steve’s direction from Bucky, chest still heaving and hands on his hips. He wants to make a sarcastic comment about how he’s <em>sure</em> Steve doesn’t like it either. But he bites his tongue and holds back an eye roll. It’s not Steve’s fault you want nothing to do with him.</p><p>Instead, he lets out a deep breath and nods his head, defeated.</p><p>The silence between them is filled with a sigh from Steve as he looks to the ground.</p><p>“I’m not sure if I should be telling you this,” he begins, “but Tony set up some cameras in Dr. Walters’ office. They’re linked to the monitors in there.” He tilts his head in the direction of the viewing room. “We’ll be able to see and hear everything that happens during her sessions.”</p><p>Bucky is turning his head to fully look at his friend, an even expression on his face as he takes in Steve’s words.</p><p>“Will…will you be okay?”</p><p>The question is vague, but Bucky knows what Steve is really asking.</p><p>
  <em>Can you handle watching what happens and keep your shit together?</em>
</p><p>“Yeah,” Bucky forces out in a gravelly voice.</p><p>Steve is nodding, “Alright, good.”</p><p>A lapse in conversation passes between the two friends before Steve is excusing himself back into the viewing room. Bucky watches him until he disappears behind the closing door. Then he’s scrunching his eyes shut and wringing his hands together, letting his body tremble for a moment to ease the pent up frustration inside him. Counting backwards from ten, a deep sigh, and then he’s releasing his hands.</p><p>Bucky knows it’s probably not the best idea for him to observe your sessions with Dr. Walters. The chances are very high it will cause more grief and heartache to watch the woman he loves repeatedly not remember him. But it would seem he’s developed some masochistic tendencies since being subjected to so much pain and torture in his life; the only things he knew for so long.</p><p>So he knows it’s a terrible, idiotic, and miserable idea. But he will willingly suffer through the torment if there’s a sliver of hope he can find while watching your sessions that the woman he met in the room is still there, and hopefully one day you’ll remember, too.</p><p>__________</p><p>The guard that escorted you to Dr. Walters’ office is quickly dismissed when you arrive, and is told to wait outside during the session.</p><p>Similar to Steve, there’s a calming effect Dr. Walters has on you. Kindness accents the green of her eyes whenever she looks at you, and when she speaks, it’s always as an equal. She’s here to help and you’re in this together.</p><p>Dr. Walters’ office is cozy, and is a bit of a contrast to the sleekness of the rooms you passed on your way up here. Looking around, you feel your senses warm as you take it all in.</p><p>The walls are a tranquil sage green with pictures depicting various nature scenes; an open wheat field blowing in the wind, a large misty waterfall, a forest bed with lush greenery. There’s a thick espresso stained desk off to the side of the room where it sits under one of the large windows. Matching bookshelves line the walls where there’s no art, and are filled with an impressive collection of books and trinkets. In the center of the room are two plush cream sofas which are situated on opposite sides of a glass coffee table.</p><p>Dr. Walters gestures with a welcoming hand for you to take a seat on the couch facing the windows.</p><p>“Are you comfortable?” She asks while settling in and situating a notepad and folder on her lap. She holds a vintage gold chrome pen in one hand, and you appreciate the aesthetic of it.</p><p>You nod, quietly clearing your throat when you feel the words sticking. “Yeah…yes.”</p><p>“Good.”</p><p>A warm smile spreads across her face and she flips open the folder. Dr. Walters quietly looks through the folder and when you get a quick glimpse of the contents, you realize it’s a profile of you.</p><p>Lips rub tightly together and you’re wringing your fingers as you wait for the aging woman across from you to say something. Impatience and the unknowing of what is to come causes your nerves to jitter.</p><p>“Alright, Y/N,” Dr. Walters begins, finally looking up from her lap. “Let’s start from the beginning. Is there anything you can remember?” Her voice is soft, comforting.</p><p><em>The beginning</em>, you wistfully think.</p><p>“No, not really.” Shame and remorse fill the space between your words. “I…I only remember being in that room…where they found me.”</p><p>Dr. Walters nods her head as she listens, the gold pen glimmering in the afternoon sunlight as she makes notes. “That’s okay, that’s good, it’s a start.” There’s that warm smile again. “I’m going to show you some pictures now, okay?”</p><p>You nod with slight hesitation and your heart rate is picking up in anticipation.</p><p>Answers to the questions plaguing your mind since waking up here has your body bracing for impact against the wall of truth you were about to hit.</p><p>Filing through the folder on her lap, Dr. Walters pulls out a faded and tattered four by six photograph. She leans forward and you take it with a trembling hand.</p><p>Looking back at you is a young child, maybe two or three, with big, bright eyes. Her hands are clasped together, stuffed in her mouth as the picture captures her mid-laugh. Innocent and full of joy. So much life ahead of her.</p><p>“This…this is me?” Your voice is quiet, shock and disbelief stealing the air from your lungs.</p><p>“That is you, in 1941,” Dr. Walters softly states. “Your name is Y/F/N Y/L/N and you were born on May 17th, 1939 in Chicago, Illinois.” She pulls out a series of pictures and places them on the coffee table before you as she continues. “Your mother’s name was Helen and your father’s name was George.”</p><p>Another photograph of a young couple stares at you. They stand in the front yard of a house, the woman holding a little girl, while the man has two hands placed on the shoulders of a boy. Another little girl, older than the one the woman is holding, stands beside the boy as they hold hands.</p><p>“You are the youngest of three children. This boy here is your brother, Jack, and this is your sister, Grace.” Dr. Walters’ wrinkling forefinger moves from person to person as she introduces them. “And this here is the house you grew up in.”</p><p>Blood is rushing in your ears and you can just make out Dr. Walters’ words as you gaze longingly at the life you had, but no longer remember. The pictures of your family begins to blur when tears pool in your eyes. Pulse increasing and body still shaking as you try to process the information you’re receiving, but finding it difficult.</p><p>Dr. Walters gives you a moment before proceeding. She watches intently, silently, as you pick up and put down each picture to examine them.</p><p>“Your family did well for themselves, and you were able to attend college after you graduated high school. You attended Columbia College Chicago and graduated with honors in 1961.” She’s handing you another photograph of you and your family. “You received a degree in Journalism.”</p><p>Dressed in a black graduation cap and gown, you smile proudly with your family into the camera as you hold a bouquet of flowers.</p><p>“You were good, too. Probably still are.” She smirks, giving you a playful wink in an attempt to lighten the mood. Then she places multiple clippings from newspapers and magazines on the table, all with your name under the article titles. “You were passionate about current events, as you can see.”</p><p>Another beat passes before Dr. Walters speaks again, her body tensing.</p><p>“Unfortunately, that was the reason for your capture.”</p><p>The air shifts, sorrow and resentment lingering between you as Dr. Walters places more articles on the coffee table.</p><p>
  <em> <strong>HYDRA. TERRORISTS. MURDERERS. THREATS TO HUMANITY.</strong> </em>
</p><p>The words glare back at you, angry and full of resentment.</p><p>“You were captured in 1968 in Saigon,” Dr. Walters says remorsefully. “It was the middle of the Cold War and you were a reporter stationed in Vietnam. A group of Viet Cong attacked the U.S. Embassy there and that’s when you were taken as a prisoner. We think when they figured out who you were, well, that’s when Hydra took you. It was determined they saw you as a threat to their efforts and wanted you eliminated.” She’s silent for a moment. “You were presumed dead 10 days after you went missing.”</p><p>Your eyes scan over the many writings. An indiscernible feeling comes over you because, although your name is on all of these articles and your features are reflected in the little girl from the photographs, it can’t be real. It can’t be right. There is no possibility you had this life before waking up in that dark, cold room where these people found you.</p><p>It can’t be real, or right, because accepting the idea your life had been unwillingly taken from you is too unbearable. Too painful to accept that you once had a family who loved you and a promising future ahead of you.</p><p>In an attempt to ease the nausea curdling in the pit of your stomach, you lean forward. Hands finding their way into your hair, eyes scrunching shut.</p><p>And you cry.</p><p>Watching through the monitors, Bucky tries to contain himself when he sees the blanket ofsorrow come down on you. Silent tears threaten to fall as he repeatedly swallows the thickness building in his throat. His flesh hand is on the verge of breaking from the grasp his metal hand has on it. Leg bobbing uncontrollably, elbows creating indents to the tops of his knees.</p><p>He wishes he could hold you and comfort you. And he would give anything to take your pain away.</p><p>A gentle squeeze to his shoulder from Steve causes him to close his eyes and let out a long breath of frustration. Tears of despair trickle down his cheeks, because he can’t do any of that.</p><p>Dr. Walters’ voice coming through the speakers has Bucky opening his eyes to look at you again.</p><p>“Y/N,” she says calmly. “Y/N,” she tries again when you remain hunched over, unresponsive to her callings. “We can be done for today, if you—“</p><p>“No,” you state firmly, sitting up and looking to the doctor before you. “No, I…I want to continue.” Using the sleeve of your shirt, you wipe at your face and sniffle.</p><p>Dr. Walters regards you for a moment. Hair now disheveled, eyes bloodshot and glassy, the skin of your cheeks splotchy.</p><p>“Please.”</p><p>Pursing her lips into a thin line and a small crease taking form on her brow has you thinking she’s going to call the session. End it before it really begins.</p><p>“Okay,” she finally says. “But if you need to stop, you let me know. Understand?”</p><p>You nod confidently.</p><p>“Yes.”</p><p>After giving you some time to gather yourself and a handful of questioning confirmations from Dr. Walters that you were sure you wanted to continue, you were gazing up at the ceiling. Back against the soft cushions of the couch, hands folded together over your stomach. The glass of water Dr. Walters gave you to ease the tension that was tightening your throat sits half full on the coffee table. A tissue damp from tears crumbled between your fingers.</p><p>It was important your body was in a state of composure in order for the sessions to be most successful, Dr. Walters explained. And, although the weight of everything you were just told still sits heavy on your shoulders, you are determined.</p><p>Determined to remember as many memories as you can for yourself and salvage the remnants of a life that once was.</p>
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